


Scenes from a life, that is not this life

by green_grrl



Category: Stargate (1994), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_grrl/pseuds/green_grrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Jack and Daniel never joined the Stargate Program? </p><p>AKA the Chicago AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes from a life, that is not this life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://justhuman.livejournal.com/profile)[**justhuman**](http://justhuman.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://jd-ficathon.livejournal.com/profile)[**jd_ficathon**](http://jd-ficathon.livejournal.com/) , who wanted 1. Connections to Chicago. 2. not _Chicago_ the musical. Huge thank-yous to [](http://paian.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**paian**](http://paian.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://princessofgeeks.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**princessofgeeks**](http://princessofgeeks.dreamwidth.org/) for insightful alpha reads and extensive discussions on story structure, and [](http://perfica.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://perfica.dreamwidth.org/)**perfica** for a lightning-fast beta/comma-wrangling.  
>  See note at the end for more on the warning.

1995 | 1996 | 1997 | 1998 | 1999 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005

 

 

Too many nights with too little sleep. Too many hours with eyes glued to the screen, hoping for an answer, a way out, a fix. Of course things are too far gone to ever get fixed completely, but humans are creatures of hope.

Asgard, not so much—a little too detached—but they keep plugging away, nonetheless.

As Daniel enters the lab on the Daedalus that has been dedicated to the project, Hermiod is already there, waiting. Jack, too, reaching out for the second cup of coffee Daniel's carrying.

They're ready for another try. Hermiod manipulates the controls that only a scant handful of people—beings—still alive would have the capacity to understand.

 

* * *

  


* * *

 

_For want of air pressure, the impact wrench was lost._  
For want of the impact wrench, lug nut torque was lost.  
For want of lug nut torque, the wheel was lost.  
For want of the wheel, a life was lost. 

 

**_1995_ **

Daniel squints through the doors of the Park Place Hotel at the pouring rain and pulls the hood of his jacket up. He ducks out into the downpour, clumsily clutching his two battered bags.

His attention is briefly caught by red and blue lights down the street, glowing in the gray mist. Emergency vehicles surround a black sedan that appears to have lost an argument with a delivery truck.

His face reflects a moment of compassion before he turns and trudges the other way, hunched awkwardly over his belongings in a futile attempt to keep them dry.

\- - - - - - - - -

Sarah Gardner opens the door to her apartment, and she gives Daniel a look of empathetic pity.

"It didn't go well?"

He whuffs a sarcastic laugh. "The entire room walked out, ten minutes in."

"Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry."

"They wanted to know who did build the pyramids, if it wasn't the pharaohs of the IVth Dynasty," he complains.

"But that's ridiculous! That's the _next_ step, the research that comes after accepting that the current paradigm needs to be re-examined." She moves aside and ushers him in, taking his suitcase.

"I know. I know!" Daniel falls into the couch. "But now I'm never going to get to do the research, because I won't be able to get grants based on a theory they want proved, when I need the grant money to get the proof to begin with!" He pulls off his glasses and scrubs his face with his hands. "Meanwhile, my post-doc position is up, my grants have run out ... and I've been evicted from my apartment."

"Oh, Daniel." Sarah alights gently on the couch next to him and lays a supportive hand on his shoulder, despite his soaked jacket. "You know, a slot just opened up for Ilsa Hogan to go to Iran three months earlier than she expected. She's packing to go next Tuesday, and I know she's looking for a cat-sitter. Why don't you call her? In the meantime, you're always welcome here."

Daniel looks up at her, awkward. "Uh ..."

She gives his back a pat. "No, I know. But _mi_ couch _es su_ couch, any time."

Daniel gives her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

After he turns away, Sarah's look turns slightly wistful.

 

* * *

 

"—so I just don't know what else we can do without Doctor Langford, and even she was out of ideas." Doctor Myers sits in General West's office, dejected.

"What about this ..." General West consults a paper, "Doctor Jackson she was going to recruit?"

Doctor Myers wrinkles his nose. "Sorry, sir, but that was pretty much a long shot. He's supposed to be bright, but—well, eccentric. And a bit stubborn, from what I've heard."

"So, a bull-headed crackpot, is what you're saying."

"Well, I wouldn't use those—"

The general fixes him with a stare.

"That's ... not entirely inaccurate. I would say he has no credibility in the academic community."

"Fine," the general says. "We'll transport the ring back to DC for storage. I'm tasking you with making sure the artifacts are properly packed for the trip, so they're not damaged—see the quartermaster for anything you need. We'll pay out the remainder of your contract and provide whatever reference you need, but all details are still classified under national security and remain subject to your non-disclosure agreement."

"Of course, sir. Yes." Doctor Myers rises and shakes the general's hand. "I'm sorry we didn't get farther on the project. It's truly an amazing find."

Once the archeologist leaves, General West flips through the papers on his desk. He takes one and feeds it into the shredder, an order of recall for Colonel Jack O'Neill, assigning him to Project Blue Book. Then he pulls a stack of paper in front of him and starts signing—transfer orders for Kawalsky, Ferretti, Brown....

 

* * *

 

Sara O'Neill is sucking angrily on a cigarette. On the counter in front of her is a brochure, the cover designed in gentle pastels and the title _Grief_ in white script. She flips it open with familiarity, turning directly to an inside panel where a side box reads, "While feeling depressed is a normal stage of grief, the presence of several of the following indicators can be a warning sign for potentially suicidal depression."

Sara's finger runs down the list, stuttering slightly on lines like _withdrawal_ , _apathy_ , _feelings of guilt_ , _loss of appetite_ , _insomnia_ , _loss of sex drive_ , _lack of care for appearance_.

Her face crumples with anguish, but morphs back to anger again by the time tears spring to her eyes. She stabs out the cigarette and reaches for the phone, dialing a Chicago number.

"Hi, Betty. It's Sara." She pauses for the response. "I'm—well, I'm not okay, but I'll get there. I'm going to counseling, anyway. It's—I'm calling about Jack. He won't go, and it's—I'm scared. It's ... not good. And I'm so fucking pissed, because I need him, and he's just holed up, but even worse, he needs me, but he won't let me in, and—" her voice breaks on a hysterical sob. "God, sorry. I'm sorry."

She clutches the phone and takes a few slow, deliberate breaths while she listens.

"There's really nothing I can do at this point; he's just like a ghost around me. But I was thinking that if he felt needed, had some kind of responsibility, he might snap out of it. I know you've been managing Frank's care and the house since the heart surgery, but maybe if you told Jack you needed his help ..."

She shuts her eyes in relief. "Thanks, Betty ... I know, I am ... I love you, too. Give my love to Frank."

 

* * *

 

"Jack! Come in! Come in!" Betty O'Neill lets him drop his bags inside the door before pulling him down into a hug. "Oh, it's good to see you." She pulls back to give him a quick, sharp appraisal before hugging him again. "I'm so sorry to pull you away like this. I'm just afraid that with winter coming on, your damn fool father will try getting up on a ladder himself."

"It's all right, Mom—"

A voice calls down the hallway, "Is that Jack? Quit your fussing over him and let him come in!"

Betty gives an exaggerated sniff at Jack's jacket and warns him quietly, "Don't you be smoking around him." Then she shoos Jack to the hall. "I'll put your bags in your room. You go see your father."

A moment later Jack's father's voice carries down the hallway again. "I haven't seen your hair that long since you were eight. You look like some kind of hobo."

 

* * *

 

Daniel is in Doctor Jordan's office, pacing as he talks. "—and I haven't been able to get even a run-of-the-mill post-doc position. Everywhere I've applied, it's like I'm ... invisible."

Doctor Jordan nods sadly. "Take a seat, Daniel." When Daniel's settled, he leans forward over clasped hands. "I won't mince words. I've been trying to put in a good word for you—as far as I'm concerned, you're the best of the best. But you ruffled some important feathers with your theory, and no one wants to touch you for fear of losing their reputations. I've even heard ... I'm so sorry to say this, Daniel, but I've even had people bring up your grandfather."

As Daniel starts to protest, Doctor Jordan waves him down. "I know, I know. You are far from mad, and it's dreadfully unfair to tar you with the same brush. Nevertheless, people will do as they will." He regards Daniel apologetically. "I don't think you are going to be employable anywhere in the academic archeological community."

"Well, I can dig a mean ditch," Daniel jokes weakly.

Doctor Jordan pulls his chair around to the side of his desk, and lays his hand on Daniel's arm. "Are you doing all right, my boy? Tell me how you are."

Daniel smiles wryly. "I speak over twenty languages, yet right now I'm teaching English as a Second Language night classes." Doctor Jordan pats his arm in commiseration, but Daniel rallies. "No, actually it's fine. My students are interesting, and they pay way more attention than any 101 class I taught while I was in school; at least they actually _want_ to be there. And it's a paycheck; I'll have money for an apartment when Ilsa gets back. But if you hear of anything better ..."

"Of course, my dear boy. Of course." Doctor Jordan pats his arm again, then leans back to let Daniel rise. "You have far too much brilliance for it to hide under a bushel forever." He walks Daniel to the door, with a handshake and another arm pat, then watches with regret in his eyes until his former protégé disappears around the hallway corner.

 

* * *

 

Betty waylays Jack in the hallway. "I think you and Sara need to talk."

Jack's face goes closed and forbidding immediately, but Betty pushes on. "I'm not saying you have to talk about ... any of that. It's just that she called to let me know she's at her father's place."

Jack startles. "Mike's condo is tiny. What, is she sleeping on the couch?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just brushes past his mother towards the phone.

"Mike—hi, it's Jack. Is Sara there?" He fidgets while he waits. "Hey." He hesitates. "Mom told me you were there. You don't have to— the house is yours. You don't have to leave it. Move your dad in if you want—it would be good for both of you."

He pauses for the response. "I don't— I'm going to be here for a while longer. I—" His expression turns stubborn. "I don't _know_ ... Months, then." He lets his eyes drop closed, anger morphing to weariness. "Look, just—I'm here, the house is yours ... I know ... Yeah, me too." He sets the phone back onto its charger, and his face betrays a moment of grief and regret before he squares his shoulders and his expression goes neutral.

 

* * *

 

Sam Carter arrives at the Groom Lake Facility. As an officer approaches, she salutes him. "Captain Carter, reporting for duty, sir."

After he returns the salute, he holds out his hand with a smile. "Welcome, I'm Major Reynolds. Glad to have you here; I heard great things about your work on the Doorway of Heaven. Airman," he calls to one of the gate attendants, "see that the captain's bags get settled."

Major Reynolds ushers her in the front door and walks her down the right wing. "I think you're going to love it here. We tend to get a grab bag of weird things, but the big one is this." At a locked entry he swipes a card and punches in a code on a keypad.

The doors slide open and Sam follows him into a high-ceilinged room nearly as big as a small hangar. Various workstations and benches are set up around the edges, and in the center is a metal object that immediately incites Sam's curiosity. "Is that ...?"

Major Reynolds grins. "Roswell."

 

* * *

 

Ra's ship descends upon the great pyramid on Abydos.

Kasuf hastily organizes a train of miners to transport naquadah ore to their god, and has his children quickly scrub themselves and pull on their finest clothes.

The first family of Abydos rides out to the pyramid, passing their clansmen carrying the ore. With serendipitous timing, Kasuf, Sha'uri, and Skaara dismount gracefully from their mastadges and prostrate themselves at the foot of the temple ramp just as the front of the ore procession crests the surrounding dunes.

With a whisper, Ra dispatches a Jaffa to organize the loading of the mineral. Then Ra glides haughtily down the ramp to survey his worshippers.

With fingers capped by the gold of a hand device, Ra reaches down and strokes along Skaara's cheek, running his hand under Skaara's chin and lifting it. When he sees Skaara's face, his eyes flash.

Skaara lets out a startled gasp, and Sha'uri's head snaps up as well. Ra studies both of them and smiles enigmatically. He turns and heads up the ramp, stopping to whisper orders to another Jaffa.

The Jaffa directs the other slaves to fetch the brother and sister and bring them in. Kasuf looks up and gives a dismayed cry of confusion at seeing his children being led away.

Ra stops on the ramp and gives Kasuf a nod that indicates that he is pleased with Kasuf's offering. Kasuf immediately bows his head again, confused but obedient.

The miners are returning from the pyramid empty-handed and filing back to Nagada.

Kasuf waits, prostrate, but finally the last of the miners exits and Ra's slaves begin returning to the ship.

The headman staggers up and follows his people over the rise of dunes, but when he reaches the far side, his legs give way and he sits on the sandy slope in shock, heedless of the tears running down his face.

A roar like the wind grows and the ground shakes. A cloud of sand flies up behind him, and Ra's pyramid ship lifts back into the sky, taking Kasuf's children with it.

 

* * *

 

Jack walks through his parents' front door, and his mother's eyebrows go up at the sight of his haircut, not Air Force short, but more tidy and put-together than before.

"It was getting in the way while I was replacing the shingles," is all he says before he retreats to his room.

Betty smiles to herself.

 

* * *

 

Daniel raps on the doorframe, then drops two folders on the desk. "Here are the final grades for the Tuesday and Wednesday night classes. The next class starts the first week of January, right?"

The administrator gathers the folders, then gives Daniel a pained look. "I'm so sorry ..."

"No ... _What?_ "

She grimaces. "We lost a big chunk of funding, and we have to cut back the number of classes we've been running. The decision was made—believe me, it wouldn't have been my choice—they're going to cut based on 'last hired, first fired.' "

Daniel flails a little, panicked. "No, you don't ... I need to get an apartment in two weeks and I have to show employment!"

"I'm really so sorry. You get outstanding evaluations from the clients, but there's no discretion." She looks honestly sympathetic. "If we get another source of funding, you'll be my first choice for rehire. And I'll be happy to write you a reference, if you like. There's just nothing else I can do right now."

Daniel responds on autopilot, in shock, "No, no. I understand. Thank you ..." He bumps his shoulder on the jamb as he stumbles out the door.

 

* * *

 

The Christmas decorations are up, but the O'Neill household is somewhat subdued. Betty sneaks into the bedroom while Frank and Jack are watching television, and calls to check on her daughter-in-law.

 

* * *

 

**_1996_ **

 

Daniel is once again carrying his two bags when he taps on Sarah's apartment door before letting himself in with a key. He drops the bags on the floor, then startles when there's suddenly someone in the bedroom doorway.

"Daniel?"

"Steven!" Steven Rayner is standing there in nothing but some hastily tugged-on boxers.

"Apparently Daniel thinks nothing of breaking into your apartment," Steven calls back over his shoulder.

"Oh, honestly!" comes a somewhat sharp reply. Sarah pushes out from behind Steven, tying her bathrobe shut. "Welcome, darling. Don't mind him. You know how he is."

Daniel ignores the growling man in the doorway and addresses Sarah. "Sorry I didn't call first. I, er ... just wanted to know whether I could stash my bags here for a couple of days. I'll just ... put together a small pack, and then I'll get out of your ... hair." He glances by reflex at the obviously rumpled tumble of curls.

"Of course you can, Daniel. Anything you need." She gives him a light peck on the cheek and heads off to the bathroom, while Steven gives a harrumph and retreats back to the bedroom, shutting the door.

Daniel speeds through his clothes and toiletries, putting together a daypack. When he finishes, he tucks his bags as out of the way as he can, and flees the apartment.

\- - - - - - - - -

Daniel wakes up from the pile of books he was sleeping over in the study carrel in the library's Classics stacks. He takes a look at his watch, blinks a few times, then leans up and stretches.

The third floor restroom is deserted, so after he finishes in the stall he does a quick sink bath to wash his armpits. He uses a little water and his fingertips to push some of the wrinkles out of the shirt from his backpack, as well.

People are starting to bustle around campus, but Daniel loiters in a doorway across from the food services building, hunching into his coat and scarf as his breath plumes. When he sees a likely group of carts pushed by caterers heading out, he follows at a discreet distance.

He's so intent on watching the food carts disappear into Wieboldt Hall that he jumps when a nearby voice calls, "Daniel? Daniel!"

He turns as Doctor Jordan catches up to him. "I'm so glad I caught you, my boy! I didn't know how to get a hold of you, and I'm not sure you'd be interested ..."

Daniel visibly shifts his attention from the breakfast trays to his former mentor. "Doctor Jordan! What is it?"

"Well, I was over in Classics, and I overheard Grayson—from UIC, you know—telling Rosenberger that the principal from St. Ignatius College Prep was by to see him; he's looking for someone to teach Latin and Greek over there. Well of course all Grayson's graduate students have their assistantships lined up already, and none of his students has 30 hours a week to spare teaching high school—" Doctor Jordan breaks off, suddenly chastened. "Teaching high school isn't the best and highest use of your talents, either, my boy, but I thought I would pass it on ..."

Daniel grasps the opportunity like a lifeline. "No, thank you! I ... Would you ..." He pauses, gesturing, embarrassed. "Would you mind being a reference for me?"

Doctor Jordan smiles warmly. "Of course not!"

Daniel winces, and continues, "And could I … print out my resume from your computer?"

Doctor Jordan wraps an arm around his shoulders. "Anything you need, Daniel. Of course!"

Daniel gives Doctor Jordan a warm and grateful handshake goodbye, with a promise to stop in that afternoon. As soon as there's some distance between them, Daniel aims again towards Wieboldt Hall, but his step is quicker and lighter than it was before.

 

* * *

 

"How was Mass?" Jack asks as he kisses his mother on the cheek. He has a breakfast of pancakes laid out as Betty and Frank come in.

"Fine," Betty says. "Father Ramon stopped me afterwards to tell me St. Ignatius is looking for a freshman baseball coach. Apparently their coach's wife got a job offer in New York and they're packing up and moving, just like that. Anyway, I told him you were all-state in high school, and how good you were with Little League."

"What, you told him about me without even asking me first?" Jack's voice is tight.

"Oh, stop it, Jack. I just mentioned you to Father Ramon. It's Father Chapman, over at St. Ignatius, who's actually doing the hiring. It's up to you whether you go see him or not."

"Do you some good to get out of the house," Frank adds.

Jack raises his eyebrows at that, and gives his father a measured look. "Tired of having me underfoot?"

His father shifts in his chair and his mother jumps in. "No, not at all. It'll just give you something to do other than sit around with us old farts."

"You're the youngest, most beautiful old fart I know," Jack says, squinching a sarcastic smile at her, and she barks out a genuine laugh at that. Jack untenses a bit.

"You know how to make a girl feel loved," she teases, but her merriment is real.

 

* * *

 

"—and from what you've demonstrated, plus your references, you're incredibly over-qualified for the position. I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but can I ask why you're applying for this job?" The priest—Father Chapman, from the nameplate on his desk—looks up from the resume in front of him.

Daniel, tidy, if tweedy, winces. "I'm afraid my theories challenged the current orthodoxy in the archeological field, and it's made me unpopular in the academic community—untouchable, actually." He subtly crosses his fingers out of the interviewer's sight. "I thought it might be a nice break to do something outside Egyptology for a while, maybe inspire some young people to succeed in college."

Father Chapman just nods. "I've worked in the Chicago diocese for thirty years; I have some idea of institutional politics. Well," he changes tack, "their loss would be my gain. If you take this position, we have lesson plans and the teacher's edition of the texts for you, although Benny Esposito, that's the Language head, and I would be open to discussing any changes you might suggest, as well."

He glances again at the resume. "I see you went to a Catholic high school."

"Yes, Father." Daniel hesitates ever so slightly before continuing. "I'm not actually Catholic, but it was the most academically suitable school for me, and it does mean I'm familiar with Catholic schooling. Or at least Catholic schooling at a Jesuit all-boys high school fifteen years ago."

Father Chapman waves away the concern. "That's quite all right; we have both students and staff here who aren't Catholic, but we do expect everyone to attend the all-school Masses on holy days of obligation."

"That sounds familiar." Daniel smiles. "I don't suppose I could talk you into giving a Latin Mass?"

Father Chapman shakes his head. "Sorry, we're strictly post–Vatican II here."

"It was worth a shot." Daniel grins, and Father Chapman seems less stressed for the first time. He rises, cuing Daniel to stand as well.

"There's just one more thing," Father Chapman says. "Will you give me your word to stay at least through the end of the school year?"

"Of course," Daniel replies.

"Then welcome to St. Ignatius, Doctor Jackson." Father Chapman offers his hand, looking satisfied.

"Please, call me Daniel." He shakes the principal's hand with an excited smile.

 

* * *

 

Jack slouches into the couch with a beer, and groans without opening his eyes. "Were high school kids always that young?"

"No, dear," Betty says, "they do, actually, get younger every year."

Frank huffs, and Jack grumps, "Smart ass." He goes on, "Seriously, though, they can't be fifteen—they're _tiny_."

"Unbelievable," Betty says. "Why I remember when you were fifteen—you were practically grown. Just about knew it all, you did."

Jack gives her the stink-eye, while she smiles serenely over her crossword.

"Three more years and you figured you knew enough to enlist," Frank puts in.

Jack sobers. "Yeah, well, and just a few years after that it was terrifying seeing the new recruits. Eighteen is still a kid."

"Well good thing all you have to do is split these kids up into dodgeball teams, then," Betty points out.

"Oddly enough, it's the girls who are the vicious ones," Jack says with a suspicious squint at his mother, which she ignores. "Tryouts for the baseball team are coming up soon," he goes on.

"You always were good at sizing people up and bringing out their strengths," Betty says. "I'm sure your team will be great."

 

* * *

 

Daniel pops into the waiting room for the principal's office and asks the receptionist, "About the Chess Team moderator position, where would I find the Student Activities Chair?"

"Oh, Doctor Jackson, I'm sorry. Allison just told me Coach O'Neill already volunteered for it."

Daniel's face falls.

"Well, I suppose you could ask him. You know where the dining hall is next door? Locker rooms and coaches' offices are one floor up. His is the last down the hall—just ask for the freshman baseball office."

Daniel nods his thanks and heads out the back of the building.

The air on the locker room floor makes Daniel sniff, then sneeze into a hastily grabbed handkerchief, but he continues down the corridor. The last door is open, so he pokes his head in.

"Coach O'Neill?"

Said coach is leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk as he reads over some papers on a clipboard. He gives his visitor a once over, then he shifts gracefully from reclining to standing, and reaches over his desk for a handshake. "Jack."

Daniel hesitates for just a moment before coming over with his own hand out. "Hi. Daniel. Jackson. I'm, um, I teach Latin here."

Jack just waits, eyebrows ever so slightly raised.

"Right. So. The thing is ... the Chess Team. I was really hoping to take it on, but Madeline," he jerks his thumb as if in the direction of her office, then frowns, thinks, and changes the direction of his thumb-pointing to more accurately reflect where her office is. "She said that you had already claimed it. And, well ... I'm hoping that maybe you could ... change your mind." His voice trails off towards the end, as if he's realizing his mission is probably futile.

Jack just watches him silently some more, then says, "Why don't we play for it?"

"I ... All right, sure." Daniel goes from slightly confused to agreement. "That seems fair."

There's a set on a small side table, so Jack pulls it out and they arrange chairs on either side.

They play silently, Daniel concentrating on the board, Jack studying his opponent as much as the game, keeping his own expression closed. Daniel's face betrays both grimaces and relief as he examines the status of his pieces, but he maintains a calm determination throughout. Even noticing Jack staring at him only causes him to widen his eyes a little in question, then return to studying the board.

The game ends in a stalemate.

Jack pushes back from the table. "You're a pretty aggressive player for a floppy-haired, four-eyed, tweedy geek."

Daniel comes back immediately with, "You're almost intelligent for an uptight, repressed, ex-military jock."

That just makes Jack break out in his first smile of the afternoon. "Well, now that the compliments are out of the way ..."

Daniel, however, winces and sobers. "Look, I've been playing chess since I was six. I was on the team in high school, and it would be great to work with these kids, but mostly ... I need the money. I know the extracurricular activity stipend isn't much, but—"

"Can you do Thursdays after school?" Jack interrupts.

"What?" Daniel gapes for a second before catching up. "Uh, yes ... Thursdays are fine."

"Then you can have it, the team. I was going to have to move their meetings to Tuesdays because of," Jack waves his hand around, indicating the baseball office. "But you seem to know what you're doing. I'll find Allison tomorrow and tell her I'm letting you take it."

"Thank you. I ... thank you. I really appreciate it." Daniel reaches out and gives Jack an earnest handshake.

"No problem. And, hey, anytime you want a rematch ..."

Daniel responds, "Sure. Anytime," and bounces out the door.

 

* * *

 

Jack slips in the back door of the classroom and takes in Daniel grading papers at his desk, up front, and the two boys sitting next to each other, halfway back. The latter seem more interested in whispering to each other than doing the schoolwork piled in front of them.

He starts moving quietly to the front, but freezes as their conversation reaches him.

" _—por que este pinche maricón nos guarde después de clases. Probablemente quiere chuparme._ "

" _Ay, no mames, cabrón. Tu_ quieres _que el jotito te chupe—_ "

" _¡Chinga tu—! Estás loco. Es_ tú _que quiere—_ " 1

Daniel, not as oblivious as he seemed, approaches the huddled students with an impressive silent teacher glide of his own and slams a book down on a table one row in front of them.

As they jump in their seats, startled and guilty, he launches in immediately. " _¿Están estúpidos, ustedes dos? Ya saben bien que este lengua y falta de respeto son contra del codigo de conducto._ " 2 He gives them both an even but firm glare. "You've just earned another two day's detention."

"But—" "No!" they protest at once.

Jack steps forward again, yelling, "Silence!"

The two boys jump again, whipping their heads around to where Jack is on the aisle.

Daniel gives Jack a wary look, but Jack continues, "I was _going_ to ask Mr. Jackson whether your detentions might possibly be running laps for two hours rather than sitting on your butts, but after this little display you're both benched for the next game—"

"Coach! We'll make up—"

" _And_ ," Jack overrides them, "you will still run those laps—before school." He gives them a glare. "You _will_ behave as gentlemen as long as you are on my team. If I ever hear you using the words faggot, fairy, queer, _joto_ , _maricón_ , _mariposo_ , or anything like them, you'll be benched again. If I hear you disrespecting a teacher, you are off the team. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." The boys look thoroughly cowed.

Daniel gives him an appreciative nod and they both retreat to the front of the room, leaving the boys with their noses buried in their books.

"Thanks. I wasn't sure whether you were one of those coaches that thinks athletes should get preferential treatment," Daniel says in a quiet voice that won't carry.

Jack shakes his head and answers in kind. "No. I wanted to keep them in shape, but I wasn't going to go easy on them. They're my two best players, which means they may run into people cutting them all kinds of slack in the future. I want to get some kind of discipline instilled in them now."

Daniel smiles slightly. "I was right. You are ex-military, aren't you?"

Jack acknowledges, "Air Force," in a tone that doesn't invite further questions, but Daniel just nods.

"Look," Jack says, "I have to get back to practice. I'll come back at the end of detention and go with you to the Dean's to add my report."

"All right, thanks," Daniel agrees.

\- - - - - - - - -

Jack, Daniel, and the boys have just left the classroom when Sarah comes rushing down the corridor and launches herself with a cry of "Daniel!" at her friend, and kisses him soundly on the cheek.

The boys' jaws drop, and Jack smirks in amusement at their surprise. He jerks his thumb towards the Dean's office with a glare at them.

The whole group makes their way, Daniel apologizing to Sarah that he still has something to take care of.

"That's all right, it's not like we have reservations for a café date," she's replies.

As they reach the office Jack offers, "Just run in and tell Edgars the short story. I'll go in and handle the follow up."

"Really? You're sure? Uh, thank you. Oh, Sarah, this is Jack O'Neill. Sarah Gardner. I'll be out in a minute." He herds the boys in ahead of him.

Jack nods a greeting at Sarah, then sticks his hands in his pockets and bounces on his toes a couple of times. "So, I was stationed at Mildenhall for a while, but your accent doesn't sound the same."

"Well, my accent is bog-standard Cambridge, I'm afraid," she says with a self-deprecating smile, "though I'm originally from the Kent area, just south a bit from Suffolk."

"I didn't know a Cambridge grad was allowed to say 'bog-standard,' " Jack jokes. "How'd you end up in Chicago?"

"Oh, I was very eager to join the Oriental Institute and study with Doctor Jordan and Daniel, even if Daniel was an Oxford man." She pretends to sniff, but her dimples betray an obviously long-running tease.

"Oxford, really? I didn't know."

"I'd say they didn't deserve him, but really there probably isn't a university in the world that does."

"He's that much trouble?" Jack quips.

She smiles at the tease, but corrects, "He's that much of a genius." There's something rueful in her voice when she says that, and Jack gives her a thoughtful look.

Daniel returns to the corridor. "Your turn," he tells Jack.

"Pleasure meeting you," Jack says to Sarah. As he's about to enter the office, he calls out after the departing pair. "Jackson! Chess, Friday? Five?"

"Sure!" Daniel responds with a wave. Jack nods and goes in to follow up with the Dean as Daniel and Sarah disappear through the school's front doors.

 

* * *

 

"Mate in two moves," Daniel says, pushing back from the table and stretching.

Jack studies the board a while longer, then knocks over his king. He doesn't look surprised. "That's three matches in a row. Obviously I should look at getting some practice in between."

Daniel shrugs. "I'll admit coaching the team is getting my game back in shape."

Jack glances at his watch. "Hey, you want to go get some dinner? My treat."

Daniel blinks, but says, "Sure." He rolls down his shirtsleeves as he stands, then pulls his jacket off the back of his chair and swings it on. Jack grabs his sports coat off the coat stand.

"What are you in the mood for? Winner's choice."

Daniel cocks his head and thinks. "There's a great shawarma place ... it's all the way down in Chicago Lawn, though. But it's not that far from the Orange line."

"Nah, I've got my car—I don't mind the drive if it's good. I haven't had good shawarma, hell, in years." He leads the way out of the building towards the parking lot. "There was this great little shop outside the base in Incirlik—more like an alcove—and the meat just melted right in your mouth."

"Oh, yeah," agrees Daniel, "Cairo is full of those, too. I think you'll like this place, then—it's the best I've found outside of Egypt. There are a few other contenders, though, in Chicago Lawn, and a couple on the North side."

"Hell, show me all of them," Jack says. "I was born here, but we moved when I was six. I haven't been back for more than a few long weekends before now. I've found some good Mexican places in my folks' neighborhood, but I haven't been around much of the rest of the city."

Daniel smiles. "I've spent the last three years poking through every last neighborhood in Chicago—it's like a United Nations. You want it, I can find it."

They arrive at a red 1965 Mustang, and Jack unlocks Daniel's door before heading around to his side of the car. "Well, come to think of it, this Turkish officer invited me home for dinner once. His wife made this dish—it was chicken breast and rice with this sort of creamy sauce, walnut maybe? I've never found it again."

"Oh, _shirkaseya_ ," Daniel says. "It's fantastic. It's not going to be at any of the quick food stands ... but I know how to make it." As they pull out of the parking lot, he points. "You're going to want to take the Dan Ryan south, to the Stevenson. Exit at South Kedzie, and we take that down to 63rd."

Jack turns as directed. "You can cook that shark-say thing, really?"

" _Shirkaseya_ ," Daniel corrects. "Yeah, it's not that hard. Well, except that I don't have much more than a hot plate. I'd need a real kitchen."

"Well ... there's a real kitchen at my parents' place. Would it be rude of me to invite you over and have you cook for four? I'll handle all the sous chef stuff and cleaning"—Jack lifts his hands from the wheel a moment to wiggle his fingers—"and buy the groceries, dessert, wine, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

Daniel is still watching Jack's hands as they settle back on the wheel. "No," he drawls thoughtfully, "that sounds nice." He turns to face Jack. "I'd love to." His lips curve in a sly smile. "Too bad we can't get some Stella beer to go with it."

Jack barks out a laugh. "Which one? The crappy piss water with two percent alcohol, or the surprise bottle with twelve percent?"

"Exactly!" laughs Daniel. "It's like the lottery; you never know what you'll get."

"I don't think my dad would be willing to be _quite_ that adventurous."

"Neither are the government import regulators," shrugs Daniel. "Wine it is. So tell me, what brought you back to Chicago?"

"My dad had a heart attack about eight months ago, and ended up having a quadruple bypass ...."

 

* * *

 

" _Un taco al pastor, dos de sesos, y uno de lengua, por favor._ " Daniel moves to the side to give Jack room to order, not seeing him wrinkle his nose.

" _Dos de pollo y dos de carne asada._ " He turns to Daniel. "Want anything to drink?"

"Oh, _sí. Una sandía grande_ ," Daniel tells the boy at the counter.

" _Para mi también_ ," 3 adds Jack, and pulls out his wallet. Daniel goes for his as well, but Jack holds up a hand. "Aht!"

"Jack," Daniel drawls out in protest.

"Daniel," Jack responds in kind. "Still losing, still paying."

Daniel gives him a suspicious look, but Jack just pays, unconcerned.

Their tacos arrive at the counter in wax paper–lined, bright red plastic baskets, and they carry them with their drinks to the only free table in the shop.

Daniel adds little spoonfuls from the variety of salsa bowls on the table. "This one's an avocado salsa," he says of the light green creamy one, then drops a few red dollops on his tacos. "And this one's super spicy, so go easy."

"You know, considering you get the most disgusting choices on the menu, no wonder you have to cover up the taste."

Daniel is unfazed by Jack's kidding. "You know, most people in the world are a little more 'waste not, want not' about their food." He folds his tortilla around the filling and takes a bite

"Yeah, true," Jack admits, "but I grew up here, where brains and tongue go to dog food factories."

"You've traveled in Mexico, though," Daniel says, and tilts his head a little in appraisal. "I'd say El Salvador or Nicaragua, too." Jack gives him a surprised look, and Daniel shrugs. "Your Spanish accent's better than mine, and definitely from this hemisphere."

"Huh." Jack considers that. "Still, you speak more languages than I do. I've heard English, Spanish, Arabic, Italian, Russian, Polish, and Greek so far. Plus Latin and Classical Greek. But I'm betting that's not all."

"No," Daniel admits, "It's somewhere around twenty, more if you count reading only." Jack gives a low whistle. "I'm betting you speak more than English and Spanish. What's your count?"

Jack hedges with a shrug. "I've picked up tourist-survival vocabulary in a few stations overseas. Spanish is pretty much the only other language I can really carry on a conversation in, though."

Daniel gives him an assessing look, but doesn't push.

"Hey, Mom's been bugging me to have you over again. She wants to cook for you, this time."

"Say the word," Daniel says easily, "and I'm there."

 

* * *

 

Betty shoos everyone out to the living room while she gets dessert ready.

Daniel is looking at the picture on the mantel of Jack, Sara and Charlie. Frank catches Jack's eye and nods in Daniel's direction for him to notice. Jack goes still when he sees and shakes his head. He then gives a quick nod with his chin towards the back of Daniel's head, with a pleading look to his dad, and heads out to the back yard.

Daniel turns his head as Frank approaches. "That's Jack's son, Charlie. He died ..." Frank pauses and thinks, "ten months ago. Accidentally shot himself with Jack's gun." Daniel waits patiently during the pause. "It's been hard on their marriage," he finally continues. "This ... well. Coming here to help me out is giving them both some breathing room."

"Thank you. For explaining." Daniel is respectfully empathetic, and doesn't tack on any other useless phrases. Frank nods in acknowledgment as Daniel turns and leaves the room.

Daniel heads to the kitchen and looks out the window in the back door. Jack is sitting on one of the swings on the swing set. His feet are planted on the ground beneath him, but he gives an occasional desultory push back and forth.

Betty comes up beside Daniel and nudges him to get him to take the two beers she's holding out. He takes them from her with a small smile and a "Thank you," and heads outside.

He sits in the empty swing next to Jack and silently holds out a beer. Jack takes it and they sit, staring straight ahead, rocking their seats slightly.

Without preamble Daniel says, "My parents died when I was eight."

Jack's smooth glide stutters slightly.

"Losing my family never got better. Just eventually enough life happened between now and when it happened that it wasn't the first thing I thought about anymore."

Jack nods, and they sit in silence a while longer, occasionally sipping at their beers. Finally Jack asks, "What happened to you? Went to go live with an aunt or something?"

Daniel shakes his head. "No. Well, not literally. My mom's best friend and her husband took me; they'd pretty much known me since I was born and I'd always called her Auntie Deb. My grandfather didn't give up the legal rights, so they never formally adopted me, but they ... well, they were good. A little flaky, but good."

"You still see them?"

"No. Carl was studying under this Hindu swami, and they both got really into his teachings. Once I was out and on my own, they sold all their belongings and moved to his ashram in India."

"Huh. That's pretty intense."

"Yeah. Last I checked, they're happy, though. I just ... there's immersion anthropology, but I like to maintain some sort of distance. Not that I think there's anything wrong with this swami, but there are a lot of good points to most religions. Why say that one is the only true way? No offense intended," he adds quickly.

Jack waves off the apology and explains, "My dad's side is Chicago Irish Catholic; Latin Mass every Sunday when I was little. But then we moved to St. Cloud, and there it was all my mom's family—Evangelical Lutheran. So my parents told me the most important thing was God's love, not the details. I wasn't allowed to tell my grandparents they'd said that, though."

The corners of Daniel's mouth turn up. "Very ecumenical of them."

"Worked for me," Jack says. "I wasn't a big fan of the details."

"Often a tripping point with religions," Daniel agrees.

"I was in love with this guy on my hockey team," Jack continues, almost managing to make it sound like an easy admission.

Daniel barely pauses the bottle on its way to his mouth. After a sip he replies, "Yeah, the details aren't so good on that sort of thing. As if a God powerful enough to create the universe would care."

"Exactly," Jack salutes that with his beer.

A short pause later, Daniel offers, "Society's not so good with those details, either. Well, especially in high school. When you're already 'shrimp' and 'teacher's pet,' you really don't need 'faggot' on top of that." Jack looks over at him and Daniel continues, "Liking girls, too, made it easier to get by, even in college."

"Yeah, in the Air Force, too."

Daniel hums agreement.

They sit quietly rocking on the swings, sipping their beers, until Betty calls them in for dessert.

 

* * *

 

Daniel fidgets a little on his folding chair. He whispers to Jack, next to him, "This is one drawback I didn't think of, teaching. I've always hated graduation ceremonies—they feel like they last forever."

"I have enough parade ground hours under my belt," Jack whispers back, "that even this crappy chair is a luxury, in comparison."

Daniel snorts quietly.

"Hey, you did tell Father Chapman you're staying on, right?" Jack checks.

"Yeah, I did. This whole paycheck and benefits gig is disturbingly addictive." Jack turns slightly, with a frown. "Yeah, yeah. And I like the kids, too," Daniel adds, looking happy at Jack's reaction to his provocation.

The calling of the graduates' names begins, so they stop talking. The administrators move the students across the stage quickly and efficiently, and finally Father Chapman is saying, "Congratulations to the Class of 1996!"

Caps are thrown in the air, and then it's a melee of students and parents trying to find each other somewhere between the stands and the football field.

Daniel and Jack circulate slowly, until a student calls, "Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson!" and he goes over to be thanked by a set of parents for the college recommendation letter he wrote for their daughter.

Jack continues on his own until one of his baseball players hails him, while a graduating older sister is wrapped up with parents and friends.

When Jack and Daniel run into each other again in the crowd, they're both wearing the contented look of someone who has made a difference.

 

* * *

 

Daniel groans as he stuffs the last bite of cheeseburger in his mouth and chews. Jack bites off the end of a thick-cut french fry. Daniel swallows hard, and Jack turns sideways on his stool so his eyes can laugh at Daniel over the top of his beer bottle.

"All right," Daniel concedes with a moan, and takes a swallow of his own beer. "Best bar burgers in Chicago. Good pick."

"I hate to say I told you so—"

"No, you don't," Daniel interrupts.

"You're right, I don't," Jack agrees, with a smug smile.

Daniel sniggers, and has to grab a napkin to catch the beer that nearly spews.

"Jesus, you're a cheap date," Jack says.

"Only beer," Daniel swears. "Vodka, tequila, whiskey? I'll drink you under the table. I think I'm slightly allergic to hops."

Jack gives him a challenging look. "We might just have to test you out on that sometime. This little issue," he wags his finger at Daniel's beer, "could be a problem at the ballpark, though."

Daniel shrugs. "I could be designated driver for the game."

"There is that. Wait, can you drive?"

"Two wheels, four wheels, stick, automatic, rear-wheel drive, front-wheel drive, four-wheel drive—I've pretty much tried at least one of everything."

"Yeah, but were they in one piece afterwards?"

"Of course!" Daniel says, offended.

"Okay, okay. Oh, hey, speaking of the game ..." He grabs the bartender's attention and points up at the television mounted near the ceiling. "Can we find out the Cubs score?"

"Oh, God _damn_!" the guy on Jack's right yells with the slight drawl of someone under the influence. "Don't tell me we got some Northside _pansies_ in here!"

Jack turns, on alert, but the bartender has already caught the man's attention by grabbing his beer away. "Hey! I told you no trouble. You are _done_." The jerk's eyes follow his disappearing bottle with almost comic dismay, then he turns to Jack.

"We don't need no queers coming in here watching their loser team. You're on the _south side_!"

Jack rolls his eyes. On his left, Daniel pulls out his wallet and lays some bills out on their ticket.

"Aw, Jeez! You letting your girl pay?" The guy on the other side of the obnoxious ass puts in his tipsy two cents.

Jack tenses again, but the bartender takes control. "Uh uh. That's it. You've both been warned before, and you're out of here. I'm not dealing with your shit tonight. Come on, pack it up. Get moving." He clears away every bottle, napkin and snack bowl in front of them, and waves his hand in a shooing motion. "You know I mean it," he adds with a glare.

The two slowly slide off their stools with dark glares split between the bartender and Jack and Daniel's direction. "Fucking faggots," one of them mutters as they slouch menacingly towards the door.

The bartender apologizes. "Sorry, I try to cut them off before they're trouble."

"Hey," Jack said, "at least you eighty-sixed them before there was a fight."

"Hell yeah. You think I can afford that shit?" the bartender snorts.

Jack and Daniel finish their beers, but their mood is subdued. Deciding wordlessly between them against having another, they leave the bar as well.

As they cross the parking lot to the Mustang, their two antagonists from inside rush them, herding them towards the wall. The first one who'd bothered them is swinging a length of metal pipe.

Jack is still and alert, but Daniel steps forward, in front of him, with his hands out and placating. "Hey, you don't need to—"

The other attacker surges forward and punches brutally at Daniel's ribs with a flash of metal—brass knuckles—and he doubles over. Their first antagonist follows up with a vicious swing of his pipe to Daniel's leg. The crack echoes, and Daniel drops, in agony.

Still partially blocked by Daniel, Jack makes a lightning quick grab for the pipe at the end of its swing, and uses it to pull its owner in for a cracking blow to the elbow. A rabbit punch to the kidney has the man groaning. The other attacker hesitates less than a second before running off, so Jack dances clear of Daniel and spins the one he has in order to finish him off with a knee to the groin and a chop to the back of the neck.

Threat contained, Jack drops to the ground next to Daniel. "Let me see. How are you?"

Daniel doesn't move. "Ribs. Leg," he wheezes. There's a slight hissing, even after he's done talking.

"Oh, shit." Jack quickly rolls Daniel on his back, flaps his jacket open and rips his shirt apart, buttons flying. There's broken skin where the edges of the brass knuckles dug in. Jack covers it with the heel of his hand, ignoring Daniel's agonized protest. The hissing noise stops. "Goddamnit ...."

A few people have stopped on the street to see what's happening, and Jack yells up at them. "Call an ambulance! Now!" They all stare stupidly for a moment, but then one guy runs toward the bar they were just at. "And the police," Jack calls after him.

Daniel is staring up at Jack, shocky. "Hang in there, buddy. I've got you," Jack says, before muttering under his breath, "Jesus, Jackson, what the hell were you thinking?"

He catalogs Daniel's condition with his eyes while keeping up an encouraging stream of patter. "Ambulance is going to come, and they'll fix you right up. No problem. Just hang on. You gotta keep breathing. I know it hurts, but just breathe in, out. They'll get that elephant off your chest and some drugs for you soon."

Daniel's eyes are questioning.

"Just a small case of collapsed lung." Jack winces as he says it. "Totally fixable, though. We'll have you out of this parking lot and into a nice clean hospital bed. No one better send you flowers, though. Sneezing's no fun on broken ribs; I know that one first hand. Balloons should be okay. Chocolates. Maybe some of those baklava from Steve's. What the hell kind of Middle Eastern place is called Steve's, anyway?"

A siren approaches and stops on the street, but it's a patrol car. The crowd pushes back and two cops come running through.

Jack nods his head at the guy lying off to the side. "Attacked us. Pipe there is his weapon—prints if you want 'em. Partner took off. He had brass knuckles, and now _he_ ," Jack nods at Daniel, "has a pneumothorax."

"Christ." One of the cops steps away a bit and calls dispatch from his shoulder radio, getting a report to the first responding EMTs and requesting a second ambulance. The second cop does a cursory check on the unconscious assailant and apparently decides he's neither in immediate danger nor an immediate threat. "Did you see which way the other guy went?" he asks.

Jack points his chin in the general direction, and adds, "But he's at least ten blocks away by now. Your best bet's getting this one to give him up, or talk to the bartender, there." He points his chin.

"You a cop?" the guy asks, curious.

"No, ex-military," Jack answers, and the cop nods, satisfied, and pulls out a notebook.

Another siren becomes audible in the distance. Daniel's eyelids are drooping. "Hey, no giving up now," Jack chides. "Cavalry's almost here. Nice big tank of oxygen, good drugs, you'll be a new man. Just a little bit longer now, big guy. Stay with me." Between bouts of chivvying Daniel he gives his and Daniel's names to the officer, and his contact information, and then the ambulance is there.

One EMT rushes up with a carrying case and another with an oxygen bottle and mask. The one with the case pulls out a package and unseals it, then hovers some kind of bandage next to Jack's hand. "Okay," he says, "You're going to move your hand right, and I'm going to slide this on from the left." Jack nods, and they do it, the hissing of leaking air cut off almost before it starts.

Jack rocks back on his heels, relieved. "He probably has a fracture here, too," he reports, pointing at where the pipe cracked into Daniel's thigh.

The EMTs both nod, and one runs back to the bus while the other one checks vitals. Daniel tries to squint away from the penlight running over his face, and the slightly blue tinge to his lips is evident through the oxygen mask. "All right ...," the tech starts, then pauses.

"Daniel," Jack fills in. "Daniel Jackson."

"All right, Daniel, we're going to get you out of here and patched up."

Suddenly there's a stretcher on the ground next to Daniel, and the other tech is doing what looks like the world's fastest splint job on his leg before they get him on the stretcher and are hurrying him to the ambulance.

"What hospital are you going to?" Jack calls after them.

The driver is already closing the doors and yells back, "Mercy."

Jack gives the cop he's been talking to a questioning look.

"Yeah, go ahead. We'll catch up to you there."

Jack catches sight of Daniel's glasses lying abandoned on the asphalt, and carefully picks them up.

 

* * *

 

Daniel frowns when his eyes drift open and they land on Jack sitting by the bedside.

"Have you gone home at all?" he croaks out.

"Hey, you remember the last time you woke up?" Jack asks instead.

Puzzled, Daniel carefully nods yes. "Bar. Dickheads. ICU. Surgery, lungs. Soon leg surgery, pin," he summarizes dutifully.

"That's an improvement, anyway. You woke up a few times before, but didn't remember."

"Drugs," Daniel guesses.

"Yeah, between the trauma and the anesthesia it takes a while to get the old noggin ... nogging again."

Daniel gives him a confused look. Then he changes the subject. "Why'd they attack us?"

Jack shrugs. "Like I said before, they're dickheads. They were drunk."

Daniel's brow crinkles as he concentrates through the fatigue and the morphine. "Called us pansies ... faggots ..."

Jack winces. "Yeah, but every macho asshole in Chicago pulls out those words when they want to pick a fight. Doesn't mean it was anything personal."

"Oh, okay," Daniel says through a yawn. "S'not like I haven't noticed you're hot. Thought maybe they saw something when I was looking at you."

Jack blinks, but he hides any other reaction. "Naw, they were probably just drunk and looking to start trouble."

"Hmm. Typical binary assumption that ..." another yawn "het'ronorm'tive orthodoxy and social whassit ... ostr'cization are the only ..." Daniel falls asleep mid-word.

Jack shakes his head with a little smile. "You got to watch those multi-syllabic words, buddy. They'll take it right out of you."

 

* * *

 

"Mom, what are you doing here?" As Jack comes in the ICU, Betty already has the seat next to Daniel's bed.

"Well, since men don't seem to have the survival instinct God gave to common barnyard poultry, it seems my role in life is to be making hospital visits," she retorts, giving Daniel's hand a conciliatory pat as she does so.

Daniel gives her a worried, questioning look. "Oh," she says, with a nod of her head towards Jack, "his high school sports were bad enough. Ask him about the time the Air Force told us he was killed in action in Iraq. Two weeks later they said he was actually alive, but it still took a month for him to get out of the hospital in Ramstein. Every gray hair here?" She points to her head. "Him."

Daniel turns his worried look towards Jack, now, and Jack glares at his mother. Then he ignores her to ask Daniel instead, "How are you doing today? Other than having to fend off this harpy." His mother snorts.

"No," Daniel frowns. "She's pretty. Pretty and scary," he says in a drifty voice, humming happily, then looks up. "You're pretty too." He seems to realize his brain isn't working right, and frowns with a frustrated, "Urg."

Betty just laughs, and Jack says, exasperated, "Fine, take advantage of the man while he's doped to the gills."

Betty gets up and pats Daniel on the arm. "Loath though I am to admit, Jack's right. I think it's time for you to sleep."

Daniel just gives another sleepy hum and his face goes slack.

"There!" Betty beams. "All he had to do was see you and he couldn't wait to be unconscious again."

"Don't push it, woman," Jack mock growls, and Betty glides out of the room, smiling gleefully.

 

* * *

 

Jack drives a Chevy pickup down a dingy, gray street, peering uncertainly at the numbers on buildings that haven't looked new in sixty years. When he finds the right one, he backs up to take the parking space he'd just passed. As he gets out, he grabs a few cardboard boxes and plastic bags from the truck bed.

The entry corridor is murky until the central elevator and stairwell shaft, which is at least a somewhat brighter gray thanks to dirty skylights far above. Jack sniffs, then wrinkles his nose.

He searches apartment numbers and knocks on a door.

"Yeah, hang on," a voice calls from inside. Soon a middle-aged man is peering out from behind the door chain. "Who're you?"

"Name's Jack O'Neill. Daniel Jackson—in 308—he's moving out. Well, I'm moving him out." He passes a letter through the gap in the doorway.

The super backs away inside to read it, then comes back to the door. "He really in the hospital?" Jack nods. "Too bad, he's a nice kid." He scratches his torso idly. "You got his keys and everything?"

"Oh yeah."

The super gives him a look up and down, then says, "Name's Luis."

Jack nods acknowledgment and Luis shuts his door.

Back in the central shaft, Jack eyes the cage door for the elevator where a few unsettling clunking noises echo down. Jack passes it by and heads for the stairs that wrap around the shaft, instead.

At Daniel's door, he unlocks the knob and deadbolt, and swings the door open. The room is no better than the rest of the building—a bare studio with a window that offers no more than access to the fire escape and a view of the next brick wall, ten feet away.

A short counter with a sink holds a hot plate and coffee maker. The half-sized refrigerator forms another de facto countertop, where the microwave sits.

Two milk crates with books are stacked against the wall, and Daniel's shoulder bag for schoolwork leans against them.

The only color comes from a bright batik scarf hung on the wall, a smallish mirror with an Indonesian painted wood frame in the shape of a mermaid, and bits of a paisley Indian bedspread peeking out from under a shoved-aside utilitarian cotton sheet on the futon.

It's a matter of a minute for Jack to pack the dirty clothes and the few hanging clothes from an over-the-door hook into the suitcases acting as dresser drawers. He flips open the largish cardboard box serving as a coffee table to find it's storage for sweaters and Daniel's winter coat, so he just closes it up again. It takes only another moment for toiletries in the tiny bathroom to be packed into a plastic grocery bag.

The kitchen holds cheap, store-brand food that gets divided into either a moving box or the trash, depending on state of mold. The random assortment of thrift store dish and glassware gets neatly packed in one box, layers cushioned by the worn towel from the bathroom, and the pot, frying pan, and mismatched flatware go in another.

The appliances get their cords wrapped around them before Jack stacks them against the wall. Then he roughly folds the linens and scarf and layers them in his last box, and cushions the mirror on top.

In less than ten minutes, the worldly possessions of Daniel Jackson are ready to go.

Jack carries the shoulder bag, toiletries bag, and one of the suitcases down to the truck, and locks them in the passenger side of the cab. Then he returns to the building and knocks on Luis's door again.

"Everything's ready to go." Jack holds up a folded twenty. "I could use a hand getting the boxes and the futon down, though." The super looks dubious, so Jack adds, "You or any kid you might know who's good to help."

"No, no. I'll do it." He shuts the door and the chain rattles as it's slid out.

Jack nods his thanks, and they head for the lift.

 

* * *

 

Daniel's lying back with his eyes closed and Jack is reading a magazine when a blond man comes striding into the room.

"Oh, hey, O'Neill. He asleep?" the man asks in a rough whisper.

"No," Daniel answers for himself, eyes still closed.

Jack glances over at Daniel, then up at the visitor. "Hey, Detective. He had a rough night last night, so he's pretty wiped out, today."

"Oh, uh." The detective approaches the bed and holds out the manila folder he's been carrying. "We picked up the other guy. I was hoping Mister Jackson could identify both of 'em in a photo lineup, now he's on the regular ward. I can come back another time, but there's only so long we can hold the partner without cause." He says to Jack, "We'd like you to come down to the station and do a physical lineup. They lawyer up, it'll cover our asses better."

"Okay," Daniel says. His eyes are open now and he seems to be staring at the detective's hands.

Jack turns with a start and picks Daniel's glasses up from the bedside table. "Here you go." Daniel's gaze shifts to Jack's hands as Jack gently slides the glasses on.

Daniel blinks and looks up at Jack. "Thanks." He fumbles for the bed control and raises the back of the bed higher. "You have photos?" he asks the detective.

"Yeah, here. Take your time." He hands over the folder.

But Daniel only flips through the photos once before he picks out the two men who beat him.

"Great. Greatness." The detective take the folder back and slides out a sheet of paper. "Let me just ..." He fishes a pen out of his jacket pocket and fills in the results of the photo lineup. "If you could sign ..." He maneuvers the rolling tray table in place and sets down the paper and pen.

Daniel glances over the sheet and signs, while the detective does a little box step in place. Both Jack and Daniel turn to him with twin looks of amused surprise and the detective explains, abashed. "I'm, uh, taking my wife out dancing tonight." He demonstrates by raising his arms into a dancing hold position and sketching out two measures of waltz that gracefully spin him around. As soon as he stops, he grimaces. "Oh, geez, sorry!" he says, glancing at Daniel's leg.

"No, that's okay," Daniel says. "Somebody has to. Dance a foxtrot with her for me."

"Will do," says the detective, with a surprisingly boyish grin. He waves the edge of the folder at them and heads out the door.

 

* * *

 

Daniel is trying to read a _National Geographic_. The visitors for the patient in the next bed over are a little loud, and Daniel winces occasionally when they break his concentration and he has to start a page over.

"Daniel!" comes a much more welcome voice from the doorway.

"Sarah, hey! What are you doing here?"

She laughs at him. "Well of course I'm here, silly. It's your birthday!"

"Oh." Daniel scrunches his eyebrows. "I'd sort of lost track."

"Well _I_ didn't," she says, and flops into the chair next to him, bringing around a bag. "Let's see. Here's a spider plant. No pollen, and they're supposed to detoxify the air." She sets it on his rolling tray table. "And chocolates, of course. You have to have chocolates." They're Belgian chocolates, and Daniel's eyes go wide at the sight.

"Sarah ..."

"And here's your real present," she finishes, pulling out two wrapped gifts and laying them within easy reach. Daniel glances at her, then starts to carefully peel the tape from the end of the smaller one.

"Daniel," she pouts, "you _can_ rip the paper."

"No I can't," he grins back at her. Once the ends are open, he pokes the present through the paper tube. "Oh!" He opens the box, and there's a silver Cross pen, with his name engraved on it.

He eyes Sarah thoughtfully, then grabs the larger present and rips the paper off, making Sarah laugh. Inside is a leather-bound blank journal.

"Thank you," he says, genuinely pleased, and she smiles back.

"I was fairly certain you'd like them."

"Well, you do know me so well."

The other visitors in the room start piling out the door, and Daniel flashes Sarah a look of relief, which makes her smile in agreement.

"Hey." When the doorway clears, there's still one figure remaining—Jack is on his way in. "Hi, Sarah. Good to see you."

"Hello," she says, while Daniel calls, "Hey, Jack."

"What's all this?" Daniel's tray is still full of presents and wrapping detritus.

"It's Daniel's birthday," Sarah answers. "Didn't he tell you?"

"First of all," Daniel cuts in, " 'he' didn't even know what today's date was. Secondly, Jack brings me quite enough presents anyway."

Sarah turns and raises an eyebrow at Jack.

"For example," Daniel says, and pulls down his sheet.

Sarah looks, then says incredulously, "He-Man pyjama bottoms?"

Jack shrugs. "They fit." He doesn't elaborate.

"And reading material." Daniel waves his magazine.

"So I'm off the hook for not knowing your birthday, then?" Jack asks.

"Not your fault," says Daniel.

"Then you won't need ..." Jack pulls a paper box out of his sweatshirt pocket.

"Baklava?" Daniel asks. "No, actually I think you're _required_ to give me those." He makes grabby hands, and Sarah smiles at his antics.

Jack hands over the box, and fishes into his pocket again. "So this isn't wrapped, but ..."

Daniel waves him closer again, and Jack pulls something out, hidden in his fist. He uses his other hand to fiddle noisily with it, then sets his present down on a clear space on the tray.

A three-inch plastic [wind-up nun](http://www.retroplanet.com/PROD/21459) starts marching across the table, shooting sparks out of her mouth. Daniel gapes. "Oh my God. It's ..."

"Sister Mary Elizabeth," Jack finishes with him in unison. "Chemistry teacher," he explains to Sarah, "the bane of staff meetings."

Daniel starts laughing. "Ow!" He lays his hand against his ribs. The nun falls off the end of the tray and Daniel laughs more, still declaring, "Ow, ow, ow. Oh, God. You bastard," he tells Jack. "This is perfect."

"Ah, but wait until I tell Mom you didn't tell anyone it was your birthday," Jack warns. "Then you'll really be in for a world of hurt."

"Oh, delicious, delicious hurt, I'm sure. Chocolate hurt, I hope. Please, bring it on."

"Ah," Jack lays his hand against his breast, "you know me too well."

Sarah shakes her head at the two of them, amused.

 

* * *

 

"Another round of PT with Nurse Ratched, I see," Jack says as he enters.

Daniel is lying back, sweaty and exhausted. He spares him a smile, eyes still closed. "I dare you to call Leon 'Nurse Ratched' to his face."

Jack shivers at the thought. "I kind of like all my joints in their sockets, thanks." He sits and pulls his chair closer to Daniel's bed.

"Mm hmm." Daniel rolls his head to the side and cracks an eye open. "D'you ... cut your hair?"

"A little trim, yeah." Jack rubs the back of his head self-consciously.

"Hmm." Daniel returns his head upright, eyes closed again. "I should do that. Mine's a stringy, sweaty mess here—a pain to take care of with ..." He waves a vague hand towards his injuries.

"My mom's been cutting my dad's hair for the past forty years. Want her to come do yours?" Daniel turns again to look at him, considering. "I mean, you can go to a real barber after you get out," Jack adds.

"No, no. I'm just ... She wouldn't mind?"

"Are you kidding? She'd be happy to."

"She's so nice to me," Daniel muses dopily.

"Nice like a barracuda." Then Jack shrugs. "You just look good compared to me. Expect the adoption papers to show up any day."

"Hmm." Daniel's voice is fading.

"Post-PT drugs?" Jack asks.

Daniel gives a slight nod, so Jack pats his shoulder. "Don't let me keep you from your nap, then."

 

* * *

 

Daniel's talking with someone when Jack arrives, so he hesitates in the doorway, but Daniel sees him and waves him in. The visitor stands and turns as Jack approaches the bed, and Jack breaks out in a smile. "Hey, Sister Claire. Hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No, no," she says. "We've just finished up. Good to see you." She shakes his hand, then turns to Daniel before she leaves. "I'll check back with you tomorrow, after you've slept on it."

"All right, Sister. Thank you," Daniel says.

Jack pulls up the vacated chair and takes a seat. "Just a visit, or something you needed, or none of my beeswax?"

Daniel answers, "No, you know I like chatting with Sister Claire anyway, but I kind of needed her with her Chaplain hat on, today."

"What's up?"

"My doctor came by this morning. He said he's checked in with the rest of my team, and it looks like, barring a recurring pneumothorax, pneumonia, or an infection, I'm still on track to be released in a week."

"That's great!" Daniel grimaces. "That's not great?"

"Sarah also came by this morning. I've been pretty much assuming—which, you know, ass, you, me ... I always thought I'd be able to crash on her couch for a while until I can get a place again. Turns out she was just stopping by to tell me she's moved in with Steven."

"That 'idiot who wouldn't know scientific integrity if it bit him in the ass'?" Jack checks.

Daniel nods.

Jack makes a face. "Ouch."

"She likes the haircut, though," Daniel adds dryly, then sighs. "Anyway, I floundered for a while about what I'm going to do, then asked Sister Claire to drop by. She suggested I talk to the social worker, but that woman is—well, you know—less than helpful. I may give her a try tomorrow, though."

Jack fiddles with the baseball hat he's holding. "Well, what would you think of ... I've been walking around the neighborhood, and there's a place on the other side of Cicero from my folks that just put up a 'for rent' sign. I checked it out—it's a two-bedroom bungalow, a little smaller than my parents' place. But it has the little lawn in front and back yard. Appliances are pretty new. I was thinking ... I don't need to be living with my folks anymore. You need a place ..."

Daniel is taken by surprise. "You were already thinking about it? About renting a house with me?" Jack nods. "A bungalow in Belmont-Cragin? A few blocks from your mom's _syltkaken_ — I mean, from your parents' delightful company?"

"Hey, I know how to make _syltkaken_ ," Jack says, offended.

Daniel gives a short, disbelieving laugh. "Even better! But how much is the rent?"

Jack shrugs. "With the two of us splitting, it'd work out to the same you were going to spend on that apartment you wanted in Back of the Yards."

"Yes, sold! Sign the lease," Daniel says.

"Aht! You know hockey, baseball, and _The Simpsons_ will be sacrosanct, right?"

Daniel rolls his eyes. "I'd pretty much figured."

"And ... I'm thinking of getting a dog," Jack adds.

"You'll feed it, and walk it, and clean its crap out of the yard?" Daniel checks.

"Oh for— I'm not ten," Jack retorts.

"No, right, more like eight, sometimes," Daniel responds back automatically, but then he says, "God, yes—go get the house!"

 

* * *

 

Sara's waiting for Jack at the airport, and after hesitating for a moment, he folds her into a hug.

When he pulls back he stares mutely, then says, "I like the haircut."

She rolls her eyes and laughs a little, then ruffles his hair. "Yeah, same back atcha."

They're friendly, but quiet, on the road home. Sara shares tidbits of news on mutual friends.

At the house, Sara parks on the street. Mike meets them on the front porch and shakes Jack's hand. "Good to see you, son." He runs an appraising eye over Jack. "I can't say I'm happy for what you put my girl through, but I hope you're finding what you need up there in Chicago."

Sara huffs a little at her father's overprotectiveness and goes in the house, but Jack toughs out the conversation. "I ... didn't like her hurting, either. But there was, there _is_ , no fix for it outside of turning back time. I'll do my best to not make it worse."

Mike nods, and heads off to his car in the driveway, leaving Jack alone.

He takes a deep breath and steps through the door.

Sara's in the living room, perched on the edge of the armchair ottoman, so Jack settles on the edge of the couch, facing her.

Sara starts. "So, you're really moving into your own place there." It doesn't sound accusatory, just factual, and Jack nods in response.

"Betty says you'll be living with that kid, the starving student working at your school."

Jack has a flash of annoyance. "Daniel's not a student—he finished with that after two PhD's, for chrissake—and he's thirty. Hardly a kid."

Sara holds up her hands in surrender. "Sorry. Just from what little I've heard, I thought he was one of your 'projects.' "

"What do you mean, 'projects'?"

"Come on, Jack. You know you have a soft spot for kids and underdogs and sad sacks—if the pound has a mutt with three legs, that's the one you'll take home. I just ... I want to make sure you're not moving in with someone who's going to take advantage of you."

Jack has been shaking his head, and he now laughs in disbelief. "Daniel—Jesus, Daniel is about the farthest thing from an underdog I can imagine. I mean, yeah, he's had some hard knocks, but he's about the strongest son of a bitch I've ever met. Hell, he stepped in front of a set of brass knuckles for me. And he's got more backbone than half the soldiers I've seen go through rehabilitation. Maybe worry about me moving in with someone more stubborn than me, but not some poor, pitiful stray."

"All right, all right," Sara placates. "I'm sorry. I just ... I don't know him and I want to make sure you're okay."

Jack shakes his head, and they both deflate a little. He stares down at his hands as if his thumbs are twiddling themselves. "There's okay, and there's okay-okay. I'm just ..." He visibly gathers the strength to raise his head and tell her, "The only thing that seems to be working is just ... starting over."

Sara's eyes redden a little, but she nods sadly. "I will never get over losing ... Charlie"—her voice cracks and Jack can't avoid a flinch at the name—"and I can't—" She loses the ability to speak completely for a moment, while the tension in Jack's bowed head says he's agonizing with her. Finally, she regroups. "But I am moving on with my life. And so are you. I'm glad for you."

It seems to not sink in immediately, what she's saying, then Jack's head comes up in surprise.

She continues, "I'd like to part now, on friendly terms."

Jack dodges around the coffee table and pulls Sara up into an encompassing hug, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

They finally pull apart and she gives a loud sniff. "Let's go pull your truck out of the garage. I picked up some moving boxes for you."

 

* * *

 

Jack's bedroom is tidy, except for the stack of boxes remaining in the corner. He takes the top one off, sets it on the bed, and opens the flaps. When he sees what's inside, he freezes for a moment.

"Daniel, can you come in here?" he calls.

Daniel soon limps in. "What's up?"

Jack carefully pulls out a locking metal box and sets it on the dresser. Then he goes back and searches out a small change jar. After poking around through the pennies for a few seconds, he pulls out a key and uses it to unlock the box. "I'm used to having a sidearm in the house. I want to make sure you know where it is and all the safety precautions." He lifts the lid and pulls out a semi-automatic pistol.

"Oh, huh." Daniel eyes it curiously. "May I?"

Jack looks slightly surprised, but sets it down and steps aside, hovering within arm's length.

Daniel rests his cane against the dresser and carefully picks the pistol up, keeping the barrel pointed down and away. He looks over into the open lock box and picks up the magazine cartridge and slides it in, then double-checks that the safety is engaged. He releases the magazine again and sets it aside on the dresser. He pulls the slider back and peers inside, then examines both sides of the frame. With a little trial and error he figures out how to release the slider and pulls it off. Then he slowly works the recoil spring and guide out. He lays the frame down and goes back to the slider, and pokes the barrel out, automatically turning it to look down the bore.

"Huh. Not too different from a Helwan," he says, glancing at Jack. Jack raises his eyebrows in question. Daniel starts carefully reassembling the pistol, checking the action with every step to make sure it's fitting smoothly. "On digs in remote areas it's more usual than not to carry protection," he explains while he works. "Especially in Egypt. I know my way around a Hakim rifle as well."

Jack relaxes slightly. "Yeah, the Helwan is basically a Beretta M 1951. This is an M9. If you want, we can find a range and you can try it out."

"Sure," Daniel says, laying the pistol down, still minus the magazine, and he shuffles aside for Jack.

Jack picks up the magazine and pistol in turn, laying them in the box, and closes and locks the lid. "The box goes in the back of the underwear drawer, and the key is in the change jar," he says, suiting action to word.

"Okay, got it," says Daniel. "Hey, what do you want for dinner? Mexican?"

Jack untenses. "I'm thinking kielbasa, head over to the 'K' streets."

 

* * *

 

Jack leads Daniel past the rows of cages, where dogs lying curled on the concrete give them desultory glances and a few meager tail thumps. "She's down here."

He stops at a cage where a black dog of indeterminate breed perks up and comes over to him, tail wagging. "Hey there, girl. I told you I'd be back," he says, reaching his hand between the bars to rub her behind the ears. She wriggles her whole body with happiness, trying to reach her tongue far enough to lick him.

Daniel reaches forward to let her sniff him, and she enthusiastically licks his hand instead. "Aw, she's a friendly girl," he says as he strokes along her muzzle.

"She's part lab, and they don't know what else," Jack says. "She's eight, which makes her harder to adopt—most people want puppies or young dogs."

Daniel scritches down her neck. "Actually, I'm happier knowing she won't be bouncing around at all hours, chewing everything in the house."

Jack nods, and adds, "She responded well to 'sit,' lie down,' and 'heel' when I took her out in the yard."

"Aren't you a good girl?" Daniel tells her, and she rises up on her hind legs, trying to lick his face through the bars. "She's a sweetheart," he says to Jack. "What's her ... Oooh," he drawls, catching sight of the label on the cage. He makes an exaggerated grimace and stage whispers to Jack, "Are you sure we should be adopting a dog named after a sailor's barmaid?"

Jack gasps in shock and covers the dog's ears. "Don't listen to him," he tells her. "Brandy is a perfectly good name for a dog."

Daniel smiles and reaches in to pet her again. "Well, if you say so." He turns to Jack. "I think ... we have a dog."

 

* * *

 

Daniel pushes his plate away with a contented sigh, but Jack is eyeing the remains of the Christmas ham.

"You don't want to be too full for dessert, son," Betty days.

Jack and Daniel turn to her and ask, "Dessert?" in perfect unison.

Franks snorts. "Freaky when you do that." He gives his wife a sharp look when she kicks his ankle under the table.

She just turns to the boys. "It wouldn't be Christmas without _risgrynsgröt_ , would it?"

Jack moans happily, and Daniel looks to him for an explanation. "Rice pudding."

Daniel reacts with an appreciative "Ooo." They turn to Betty again with identical expectant expressions, and she sniggers.

"Tell you what. Why don't you boys clear this table and make some room?"

They both immediately spring into action, hurrying off to the kitchen with the dirty plates and a few side dishes.

The moment they're out of the room, Betty turns to Frank and whispers, "He's getting back to his old self again. Don't you say a thing against it."

Frank shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Just takes some getting used to. Wasn't expecting anything like that."

Betty whispers back, "After his friend Anders in high school? Really? Besides, there isn't 'anything like that' yet, so take the time to get used to the idea. There's no guarantee our boy won't be an idiot, but if he figures out how to be happy, you'll be happy. Got it?"

Daniel bounds back into the room and picks up more serving plates. " 'Scuse me. Pardon me." And then he zips back into the kitchen, where they can hear the sound of the sink filling.

Frank harrumphs. "Well, he could do worse."

Betty nods, satisfied enough, then she calls back into the kitchen, "You boys fill up some Tupperware to take home!"

 

* * *

 

**_1997_ **

 

Daniel comes through the front door and calls, "Hey, I'm back." He sets his bag on the entry table, then shrugs out of his coat and scarf and hangs them on one of the hooks by the door.

All he hears is a sudden rustle from the living room, and he peeks in to see Jack disappearing down the hall towards his room, clutching a set of papers. Brandy is under the coffee table, and looks up at Daniel with sad eyes and a very soft whine.

"What's going on, girl?" he asks. He perches on the futon and rubs at his thigh, absently. There's a manila envelope on the table, and Daniel turns it to see the return address of an attorney's firm in Winter Park, Colorado. "Ah," he says to himself quietly, and carefully turns it back. Brandy comes up and lays her head on his knee with a pleading look. He pets her head. "We'll need to give him a little time on this," he says.

 

* * *

 

Teal'c and his guards stride through the cell, inspecting the prisoners. When he finds a pretty woman with long, dark hair, he signals the guards to take her, and they pull her out of the cell, ignoring the fearful whimpers of those left behind and the loud cries of the chosen woman's friend.

Bra'tac is in the hallway and Teal'c stops to talk with him, gesturing the others to continue with the prisoner.

Teal'c whispers to his mentor, "I fear we will shortly have another tyrant joining the false god in oppressing us."

"A woman with a face a goddess would envy, then?"

Teal'c responds with disapproval, "Most worlds have learned to conceal their treasures from their oppressor. Apophis is too vain to have any interest in the old and sick—he takes their tribute and leaves. I do not understand these worlds that do not hide their young and beautiful. They only lose their loved ones to this vulture."

Bra'tac tuts. "Do not blame the villagers for your own feelings of guilt." Teal'c glowers, but Bra'tac pays him no mind. "Do not forget, you once believed as they do, that it is a blessing to offer their best to their god. You know otherwise now, but the people you stole her from do not." He goes on solemnly. "We will suffer today the yoke of two additional masters, but this will only triple our desire to be free."

Teal'c nods in agreement, and continues down the hall to the priests’ implantation room.

 

* * *

 

Daniel is sitting in the witness stand, while a middle-aged man with more aggression than hair questions him.

"Mister Jackson, I won't argue that you were the victim of a dust-up with my clients." Daniel's jaw tenses at the lawyer's phrasing, and in the audience behind the prosecution's table, Jack gives a deadly glare. "But the prosecution is attempting to charge them under the Illinois Hate Crime Act, which is a Class 4 felony. This is an extremely serious charge. Can you honestly say that my clients' words that night were anything more than random trash talk? Do you think they really attacked you for being gay?"

Daniel suppresses a flash of irritation and glances at the assistant district attorney, who gives him a confident look and a faint nod. She's an attractive woman, with a non-nonsense competence that Daniel seems to find calming. He leans forward to state very simply, "I have no way of knowing what they were thinking. I only know what they said." Then he sits back and firmly clamps his lips shut.

The ADA and Jack relax ever so slightly and the defense attorney gives up. "No more questions, your Honor."

The judge gives the ADA a questioning glance, and she rises. "One more question, your Honor." The judge allows it, and the ADA approaches Daniel.

"If you were to see a young man walking down the street in the neighborhood where these men live, and if this young man was wearing a T shirt with a slogan of some sort indicating that he's gay, would you fear for his safety if he were to run into these two men?"

Daniel quickly leans forward and says, "Yes," at the same time the defense attorney jumps to his feet and shouts, "Objection! Calls for speculation."

The judge gives the ADA an admonishing look. "Sustained. The jury is to disregard the witness's response."

"Then I have no further questions, your Honor," the ADA replies, but when she walks back to the table she has the smile of the cat that got the canary.

"Thank you, Doctor Jackson. You may step down," the judge says, and Daniel returns to his seat next to Jack.

"If there are no further witnesses ...?" the judge asks the two attorneys. They shake their heads, and she continues, "Then we will adjourn for the day and reconvene tomorrow at ten a.m. for closing arguments."

The bailiff calls, "All rise," and the judge leaves the courtroom.

The ADA turns and shakes Jack and Daniel's hands over the railing. "You both did a great job today on the stand. I don't think we'll have any problem convicting."

They both thank her in return and she hurries off.

Jack says, "I wish I could learn her trick of getting you to answer short and sweet," and Daniel rolls his eyes.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball."

Jack groans. "I'm burning that movie."

 

* * *

 

Jack pokes his head into Daniel's room, where Daniel is grading papers at his little desk.

"Pasta okay for dinner?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, great. Thank you." He starts to turn back to his papers, but then calls, "Oh, wait. Jack!"

Jack pops back into the doorway.

"I'm going to be out late tonight. I'll try to be quiet coming back in."

Jack thinks, puzzled. "What's tonight?"

"Oh, this afternoon I ran into an old ... acquaintance. He wants to meet up in Boystown, go clubbing on the Halsted strip. I haven't had a chance to catch up with him in a while, and it's been even longer since I've been out dancing."

Jack gives a perfectly neutral nod. "Have fun."

"Hey, why don't you come with us? Have you been to Boystown?"

Jack briefly lifts one corner of his mouth. "Not since long before I was married, back when the only place to go was Little Jim's Tavern. But I don't think I'm up for a late night of dancing. You go have a good time with your friend."

"Little Jim's is still there, you know," Daniel says. "Maybe sometime we'll go for an afternoon, or an early night."

"All right." Jack gives the door jamb a couple of pats. "Let me go get dinner on."

 

* * *

 

"—we must ensure we have the capability to defend the protected planets." Thor is addressing the Asgard High Council.

"The Goa'uld are under the thumb of Ra. The lesser lords are too busy fighting amongst themselves to bother with the protected worlds," Freyr argues. "And we have need of our full fleet here in our own galaxy to prevent the Replicators from taking hold."

"I agree that the Replicators are worrisome. That is why I recommend we double the size of the fleet," Thor responds. "But the Goa'uld are still a threat. A lord trying to build his power base can see a planet left alone by the others as a tempting target."

"That is why we have protections on the planets," the Chief Archon points out.

"The obelisks protect the stargates, but not the skies. There is nothing to prevent an attack from orbit except fear of our ships. If we do not have ships to respond with, that fear will be lost."

The other councilors talk amongst themselves for a few minutes. Finally the Chief Archon reports. "Very well. Reserve two ships at the ready to respond to treaty violations by the Goa'uld. We will increase shipbuilding capacity."

 

* * *

 

Doctor Ernest Littlefield is walking the halls of Heliopolis while a storm rages wildly enough to shake the structure.

"Don't be afraid, Catherine," he says. "We're quite safe inside. This happens every year."

He pauses and listens. "Me, too, my dear. I always feel better when you're with me." The building shudders, but Ernest is paying more attention to his imaginary companion than his surroundings.

He turns and heads through the gateroom, still talking to thin air. "I love you, too. There's never been anyone else."

Pieces of ceiling give way and strike him a glancing blow. "Catherine!" he shouts, and hunches over an invisible form. "Stay down, I'll protect you!" He stays on all fours, ducking his head to try to avoid more rocks, but continuing to shield a patch of empty floor. "Together, forever!" he cries.

Finally the entire structure collapses and tumbles into the sea, far below. Ernest gives one final gasp, almost in surprise, as he falls. "Catherine!"

 

* * *

 

As they find seats in Little Jim's Tavern, Daniel asks, "So what do you think of the new Boystown?"

"They sure the hell have cleaned it up," Jack replies.

"Yeah, the gentrification fixed up some old buildings, but it priced a lot of people out, too. I want to hear about what it was like back in the day," Daniel adds, getting out of his chair again, "but first I'll go get us some drinks." He heads to the bar.

Jack looks around. The large tinted glass windows show the spring sunlight shining to the street, and a mix of men, a few women dotted in, are relaxing comfortably. A jukebox is playing Aretha Franklin, and Jack settles into his chair.

Daniel sets the drinks filling his hands on the table, then slides a glass of whiskey, neat, and a bottle of Sam Adams over to Jack. He has his own whiskey, with a glass of water for a chaser. He raises his drink and Jack clinks his own against it. "Slainte."

They each take a sip, and then Daniel raises his eyebrows in question. Jack shrugs. "Not quite the den of iniquity I expected."

Daniel gives a little laugh. "It's Saturday midday. Come back later, and it's a lot more ... cruise-y."

"Cruise-y?" Jack teases. "Is that a word?"

"Evolution of language," Daniel claims with a wave of his hand, "happening right before your eyes."

"Or ears," Jack corrects. Daniel salutes him with his glass again, and their eyes meet, filled with merriment.

Just as their silent look is about to stretch on long enough to settle into something else, someone taps Daniel on the shoulder.

Daniel looks up to see a man smiling down in invitation. "Can I buy you a drink?" He's wearing Levi's that are worn enough to fit with a soft denim hug around all the right places, and a white tank top that displays why he doesn't need anything else.

Daniel just gives him an "Uh, no." He adds the "Thank you" a little more firmly when the guy doesn't blink. Finally the guy shrugs with a disappointed smile, and moves on.

Jack takes a sip of his whisky, then tells Daniel in a carefully indifferent tone, "You could take him up on it if you want to."

Daniel gives Jack a studied look, then scoots his chair closer. "Look, let me know if I've gotten the completely wrong idea, and I apologize in advance. But I thought that we were heading towards ..." He leans forward and places a soft kiss against Jack's mouth.

Jack freezes for just a moment, but then he returns the kiss, tilting his head and opening eagerly under Daniel's mouth in a way that makes it more than clear Daniel definitely had the right idea.

They kiss for long minutes, tasting and connecting, before they break just enough to rest their foreheads against each other and catch their breath. "Oh, thank God," Daniel says, and Jack laughs.

"Yeah."

\- - - - - - - - -

Jack and Daniel tumble through Jack's bedroom door and fall onto his bed.

"Off, off, off," Daniel mutters into their kiss, trying to push Jack's jacket off at the same time Jack is pulling Daniel's shirt up. After some spectacularly uncoordinated tussling that goes nowhere, Jack backs off the bed and pulls Daniel up.

"Strip," Jack orders, but he interferes with another kiss. "Now." He pulls back just long enough to drop his jacket to the floor and whip his shirt over his head. Daniel gets with the program and pulls his own shirt off, and then they're both fumbling with buttons and zippers and pushing down.

Jack remembers his shoes first, and does a wobbly balancing act, pulling open the laces and stepping on one shoe, then the other, to pull his feet out. Daniel sits on the edge of the bed to do his shoes, his eyes huge as he sees Jack's erection bobbing in front of him.

Brandy gives a questioning whine from the doorway with a confused look, and Jack shuffles over, pants halfway to his knees. "Sorry, girl. Out." He shuts the door, and turns and pushes his pants and boxers the rest of the way off over his feet, then shoves his socks off as well.

Daniel finishes kicking off the last of his clothes, and scoots back up on the bed, propped up on his elbows so he can keep drinking in the sight of Jack.

Jack stares at Daniel spread out naked in his bed, and knees up onto the mattress. Daniel lies back as Jack crawls over him and lays his body down skin to skin. They both gasp as their cocks rub against each other. Jack stops only long enough to gently pull Daniel's glasses off and lay them on the far corner of the mattress, and then they kiss hungrily, hands grasping to touch and hold, while they surge against each other.

They gasp and moan into each other's mouths as their hips roll together, until Daniel throws his head back and stiffens. "Jack ... Jack!"

"Oh, God!" Jack pumps faster, sliding against Daniel's belly, and soon he goes rigid with orgasm as well. Then he slumps from head to toe, the only part of his body still firm the arms keeping him from crushing Daniel's ribs. With his head hanging from hunched shoulders over the tendon where Daniel's shoulders meet his neck, he mouths it idly.

"Mmm," Daniel hums, contented, and reaches a hand up to cup the back of Jack's head and stroke his fingers through Jack's hair. Jack works his way up Daniel's neck to where his jaw meets his ear with lips and tongue and faint scrape of teeth, and Daniel leans into the touch. His hand drifts down the center of Jack's spine and Jack's body undulates with a shiver.

Daniel pulls his head back to be able to look Jack in the face. "Oh yeah?"

"Nng," is all Jack can articulate at first. Then he says, "Unfortunately I'm in the over-40 club, or you'd be feeling the 'oh yeah' right now." He gives his hips a little push against Daniel's.

"Good to know," Daniel says seriously, but he's wearing the ghost of a smile. They lie there for a while longer, petting and stroking whatever skin they find within reach.

After a few minutes Daniel tries to shift a bit. "Let me up."

Jack makes a small noise of protest and clutches at Daniel's shoulders to keep him.

Daniel gives a gentle stroke through Jack's hair. "I just want to get a washcloth for us, before this"—he wiggles his hips—"gets messier than it already is."

With a resigned sigh, Jack rolls them to their sides, still holding on to Daniel. He mirrors the stroke through Daniel's hair. "As long as you're coming back."

Daniel leans forward for a soft, deep kiss. He pulls back slowly, mouth slack and eyes still on Jack's lips. Then he looks up with a promise. "Definitely."

He backs off the bed, snagging his glasses, and heads out the door. Soon the sound of running water comes from the direction of the bathroom. Jack takes advantage of the moment to pull down the bedspread and sheet and fluff the pillows into place for them.

Daniel returns with the washcloth and a slightly damp belly, and climbs onto the bed.

"Aht!" Jack takes the washcloth from him. "It looks like you already started without me," he chides, as he runs the washcloth over Daniel's skin anyway.

"Well, I had a lot to clean off," Daniel replies, wryly.

Jack concentrates on his task, until Daniel steals the cloth, saying firmly, "My turn." He cradles Jack's soft cock with the washcloth, gently pulling upward. Then he swipes over the smears of come on Jack's belly, pulling the cloth tight over his finger to go after some of the drying bits clinging to the hair of Jack's treasure trail.

Eventually Jack grabs the washcloth and tosses it across the room. "That's enough of that." He runs his fingers bare over Daniel's skin, exploring. He lands light touches near Daniel's scars, on ribs and thigh. "These are healing up well."

Daniel looks down. There are still noticeable red lines, but they're thin and flat to the rest of his skin. "They did a good job," Daniel agrees. He turns his attention to Jack's body, and runs a finger alongside an old, thick scar with tracks on Jack's hip. "It looks like you didn't always have access to plastic surgeons for your stitches," he says, but without judgment, and he follows it by scooting down and leaning over to kiss the area. He looks up through his lashes with a heated gaze. "I'm going to enjoy kissing every inch of you." He adds after a pause, "A certain several inches in particular," with a dirty smile.

Jack goes slightly uncomfortable at that. "Uh ... I don't, actually, have a lot of experience with doing"—his hand windmills—"with guys."

Daniel slides back up for a more face-to-face conversation. "That's all right. There's nothing we have to do ... or not do. Whatever you're up for, I'm fine with, and whenever you want to stop something, that's okay." He runs his thumb down Jack's chin. "Can you tell me ... what you have done?"

Jack looks down, embarrassed. "Mostly just ..." he makes an unmistakable gesture with a loose fist.

"Hand jobs?" Daniel clarifies, his voice going throaty. "You'd take this hand"—Daniel captures Jack's in his own—"and wrap it around my cock"—he bends his head and gives a nibble to the side of Jack's thumb—"get me hard, and stroke me"—he licks and sucks along the prominent joint where Jack's thumb meets his hand—"and grip and squeeze and play and tease"—he nips lightly with his teeth where his tongue last was—"until I spill all over your hand?"

Hypnotized by Daniel's lust, Jack only manages to clear his throat and then nod.

Daniel moans, and draws Jack's thumb into his mouth entirely for one, then two avid sucks. "I could really, really live with hand jobs from you," Daniel says, still smoldering. "I may, um, have a bit of a thing for your hands."

Jack croaks, "I noticed."

Daniel surges up and takes Jack's mouth in a passionate kiss.

 

* * *

 

Frank is reaching for the pepper when he catches sight of Jack and Daniel across the table sharing a private smile. "About damn time, you two," he says.

Their heads snap towards him, and they're wearing identical expressions of surprise, with just a hint of being caught out.

Betty's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline. She throws a quick look at her husband that asks, "Really?"

He nods in confirmation, and turns his attention towards his dinner again.

Jack has twin spots of pink, high up on his cheeks, and Daniel is gaping.

Betty smirks as she concentrates on buttering her dinner roll. "Quite right. Took you long enough, son." She glances up slyly. Jack's cheeks are bright red now. "Ah," she continues, "I should have known. Well, good for you, Daniel. I just hope you know what you're getting into with this one." She points her butter knife at Jack.

Jack glares and points his own knife back at her, "Evil woman."

Daniel is still flustered. "Uh ..."

"Don't respond, Daniel," Jack advises loftily. "It only encourages her."

Daniel ducks his head and stabs his fork into his green beans.

But when he drops his plate off in the sink, afterwards, Betty corners him and pulls him down into a hug. "I really am happy for both of you," she whispers in his ear, and when he straightens, he's flushed and pleased.

 

* * *

 

Daniel cranes his head up at Wrigley Field, looming incongruously in the middle of the neighborhood. "Come on," Jack says, and leads him off Waveland and into the ballpark.

As they walk around the terrace towards their section, Jack points out the masthead rising delicately over the scoreboard. "The colored banners stacked up are the teams in our division and current standings. That's the blue and white on the bottom. After the game they'll raise a white flag with a 'W' on that arm, if we win," he points, "or a blue flag with an 'L' on that arm, if we lose."

"Ah, the 'white flag over Wrigley,' " Daniel realizes.

"Yup." Jack points ahead and up. "Up there is where Harry Caray does his commentary from."

From where they are they can only see the bottom of the tier above, but Daniel nods anyway. "So," he asks, "Do you want to find our seats first and then—"

"Coach O'Neill," a young voice shouts, and they both turn towards the interruption—a boy and his father approaching.

"Eddie!" Jack greets the kid with a smile and a light clap on the side of the head. "Aaron." He shakes the boy's father's hand. "Good to see you. Daniel, this is Aaron Washington, quite possibly the father of a future All-City star. Aaron, this is Daniel Jackson. He teaches Latin at St. Ignatius."

"Pleasure," says Daniel with a handshake.

"Eddie's hoping to see Dave Hansen today," Aaron tells Jack.

"Good choice," Jack says to Eddie, approving. "He's a solid player with a lot of versatility, a good career move."

"Do you think I could play first and third, too?" Eddie asks.

Jack thinks about it. "Beto's been pretty solid at first. I can switch you guys around for a few practices, see how you do. It'd be good for both of you to mix it up."

"That'd be awesome," Eddie enthuses, and Aaron smiles at his kid.

"We'd better go find our seats. Good seeing you," he tells Jack and Daniel, and herds Eddie off.

"Good head on his shoulders," Jack says after they leave. "A lot of kids idolize the home run sluggers, but Eddie puts in a lot of practice on controlling his hits. A lot more strategic."

"The non-standard smart jock, then," Daniel teases.

Jack pulls him close with a headlock by reflex, then freezes and awkwardly lets him go. "Sorry. I hadn't really thought about"—he waves his hand to indicate the ballpark and grimaces—"running into kids and parents from school."

Daniel sobers. "Crap. Me either. That's ... an issue."

Jack gives him a clap on the back that slides into a shoulder squeeze. "We'll … work it out. Let's find our seats."

 

* * *

 

Madeline tells Jack and Daniel, "Go right in," and they enter Father Chapman's office together.

"Daniel, Jack. Good to see you both." Father Chapman rises and shakes their hands, then waves them both to the visitor chairs as he takes his own seat again. "What can I do for you?"

Jack and Daniel glance at each other, and then Daniel takes a deep breath before diving in. "Well, Father, we came to let you know that we won't be teaching at St. Ignatius next year."

Father Chapman looks from one to the other, dismayed. "Are you sure? We were in a tight situation, losing two staff members in the middle of the year last year, but I've been more than happy I found both of you. Is there anything I can do?"

Daniel searches for the words to explain. "It's ... I've been lucky enough to find someone in my life with intelligence, humor, passion, integrity, loyalty ... it's just that ... he's a man. Personally, I believe that God would celebrate all love. But Church doctrine doesn't, and my employment contract prohibits me from advocating any position contrary to the Church's. I can't deny this." He waves his hand between himself and Jack, and Father Chapman's gaze follows, realization dawning. Daniel goes on, "If a student came to me and asked me about my relationship with Jack, I couldn't deny it. If a student came to me with his—or her—own sexual identity questions ... I ... I just couldn't advocate the Church's position."

Father Chapman leans back in his chair and scrubs his hand over his face. He sighs, then looks up at each of them in turn, regretful. "Jack?"

Jack gives a small shrug. "I was lucky enough to be married during most of my military career, so I wasn't affected by regulations about—" He twirls a finger in lieu of words. "But I'm not going to hide my relationship with Daniel. If I were still in the Air Force, I'd retire for him, and I see it pretty much the same way here."

Father Chapman nods, then leans forward onto his elbows. "I think you have a fair idea I'm a believer in a loving Father over a judgmental one, myself. However I'm also quite certain there are some parents who would rather forcefully protest any ... lack of adherence to doctrine, should they become aware of it, and the Diocese would go with the letter of the law."

He grimaces. "The very integrity you're demonstrating over your employment agreement, rather than hiding your relationship, shows that you're the kind of staff I'd prefer to be able to keep ... not even counting the results you've both achieved with your students," he adds with a sweeping wave of his hand. He sighs again, then pushes up from his desk and extends his hand again. "I'm sorry to lose you, but I understand your decision. Please do call upon me if I can help you in any way."

Jack and Daniel stand and shake hands again, murmuring small phrases of thanks and regrets, before filing out.

As they leave the building, Jack slips on his sunglasses. "Sooo ... intelligence, humor, and integrity, huh?"

"Well, it sounded better than saying I've been lucky enough to find someone moody, stubborn, argumentative, and querulous," Daniel says.

"Querulous?" Jack raises his eyebrows. "Huh, and here I thought you were just avoiding telling Father Chapman about my hot body, sexual prowess, and incredible stamina."

"Oh, that too," Daniel concedes agreeably. "It's all there—integrity, stubbornness, hot body—you contain multitudes."

Jack pauses for a moment. "I could go for containing multitudes of tacos," he says with a hint of question in his voice.

Daniel studies him. Finally he answers, "Sure. Tacos would be good."

They head for the parking lot with matching strides.

 

* * *

 

Daniel drapes his jacket over the back of the futon, and loosens his tie and top shirt buttons. The house is quiet, so he goes through to the back yard, where Brandy greets him enthusiastically. "Hey girl!" he says, giving her a good rub behind the ears.

Jack sets down the pruning shears and wipes his forehead. "Well?"

Daniel holds out his arms. "You're looking at the new Latin teacher at Kenwood Academy."

"Hey, congratulations!" Jack gives him a sweaty kiss, but Daniel doesn't seem to mind at all. "Tell me about it."

"Just a sec." Daniel pops back inside for a moment, then comes back out with a beer for Jack and a Coke for himself. They settle into chairs and Daniel starts rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"Father Chapman's recommendation was good, but what really impressed them was Doctor Jordan's. Their AP students actually attend University of Chicago classes, so the fact that I know the programs and professors makes me the perfect advisor as far as they're concerned. They also liked my idea for a Classics Club, since they don't offer Greek as a language."

"It sounds like it's tailor-made for you," Jack says, and salutes him with his bottle.

"Yeah," Daniel says, but there's a slight hesitation.

"What?" Jack nudges him with his knee.

Daniel shrugs. "I'm just afraid it's going to be hard, being so close to the University and not doing the research I used to be doing."

"So do the research," Jack says. When Daniel opens his mouth to protest, Jack interrupts. "I don't mean flying off to Egypt with teams of people. I just mean ... You complain about that Budge guy, right? So take one of the squiggles that has a lot of interpretations and write a paper on it—all the different ways it's been translated, how it would change the meaning if you translate it another way. See if you can get it published. If not, what the hell, maybe it's chapter one of a book."

Daniel stares at him. "Huh," he says. "You're not just a pretty face." He thinks over the idea. "I won't have a lot of time during the school year, but I should at least keep up on journal reading. Then over the summer I can write." He settles back in his chair, letting the idea grow on him. "Daniel Jackson, independent scholar. Why not?"

Jack waves to get his attention. "But I am a pretty face, _too_ , though, right?" he checks.

 

* * *

 

Daniel is stripping out of his jogging clothes when Jack comes in with water glasses for both of them. "Shower with a friend?" Jack asks while Daniel chugs.

Daniel nods, then says, "Anytime."

Jack pulls off his sweaty shirt and gives his face a swipe before tossing it to the laundry basket. He gives a little fist pump for his two points. Once he's pulled off the rest of his gear he follows Daniel down the hall to the bathroom.

Daniel turns on the shower, and Jack gives him a kiss while they wait for the hot water. Daniel adjusts the temperature and they climb in, promptly kissing more instead of washing. Finally Daniel smiles into Jack's mouth and tilts his head down a bit. "You know 'showering with a friend' never actually conserves water?"

"Like I care." Jack angles in for another kiss.

Daniel reaches for the soap and lathers up so that he can run slicked hands over Jack's body. Jack does the same, and they tangle as each tries to grope the other at the same time, until they manage to work out taking turns.

Jack presses in closer as Daniel reaches around him to massage his glutes with soapy hands. "I ... think I might want to try ..." Jack says. Despite the vagueness, Daniel is instantly alert. "You seem to enjoy it," Jack elaborates.

"Oh, I do," Daniel promises in a low voice. His fingers slide farther around, delving a little deeper. "I think you will, too," he continues. "We'll ... experiment. You let me know what you like, or if you want me to stop." Daniel maneuvers Jack around until he's bracing himself against the tiles, then re-soaps his hand and slides it between Jack's cheeks. "Let's just finish washing up, because I want to lay you out and take my time."

Jack's cock swells from interested to heavy, and he groans.

They rinse off and do a quick towel rub before hurrying back to the bedroom. "On your front," Daniel orders, and Jack stretches out on the mattress. Daniel's breath hitches with pure want. "God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, as he stretches out over Jack.

He lays a soft, open sucking kiss on the back of Jack's neck, then one on the knob at the top of his spine. As he slowly kisses his way down Jack's back, Jack arches and hums, and his hips circle up in small movements. By the time Daniel reaches his ass, Jack's legs spread open in welcome, and Daniel rewards him with soft nibbles and wet licks between his ass cheeks.

He pauses to wet his thumb and move down to add long massaging strokes along Jack's perineum, before coming back to the wrinkled pucker, looking soft and eager. Daniel licks, then circles with his tongue, and licks again. He surrounds it with a sucking kiss, then gives a soft poke with the point of his tongue.

Jack's wordless noises of appreciation grow into a fully heartfelt, "Oh, God! Daniel ..."

"Just enjoy it," Daniel says. "I want to get you off just like this. We can work up to ... more, later."

Jack's moan doesn't sound like disagreement.

 

* * *

 

Jack waves, then shouts through the din of the steakhouse, "Hey, Burke!" He reaches out with a handshake and pulls his friend in for a backslap and a whispered conversation. The two men are tense, and there's an undercurrent running between them, but finally Jack pulls back and introduces, "Doctor Daniel Jackson, Agent Jerry Burke. Burke, Daniel."

Daniel greets him, and then Burke surveys the restaurant. "Man, I'm so looking forward to a meal that isn't plantains or pupusas, I can't even tell you." He rubs his hands together.

Jack flags the hostess, and arranges to get them a booth near the kitchen doors, where the noise and clatter covers their low conversation.

Daniel leans in and says, "Thank you for looking into this."

Burke shrugs it off. "I had some personal days, and I've got an itch to see the Blackhawks." He adds, "Jack gave me the short story, but what are the details?"

Daniel pauses to collect his thoughts, then begins, "I got a phone call two weeks ago from Doctor David Jordan at the Oriental Institute. He'd been contacted because a sarcophagus with Egyptian hieroglyphs was found in a Mayan pyramid near Xphil."

Burke interrupts, " _Egyptian_ hieroglyphs in Campeche? That's crazy!"

"Exactly!" says Daniel. "Back when I was at the Institute, I had written some articles on cross-pollinization in ancient cultures, because there are certain connections in the development of both languages and mythological themes that shouldn't be possible based on current theories of—"

Jack catches Daniel's eye and makes a rolling gesture for him to move ahead with the story.

"Uh, right. Anyway, this sarcophagus could very well represent conclusive evidence of my theories. And apparently one of the members of the expedition remembered my articles. I've since become _persona non grata_ in academia, but Doctor Jordan and I used to work together, so they decided to ship the sarcophagus to him at the Institute. Then Doctor Jordan called me, and promised to let me have full access in order to study it."

His expression darkens. "So I went over there on the big day, and Doctor Jordan and I headed downstairs to the delivery dock when he got the call. But when we got there, a Colonel Maybourne had showed up. He wouldn't let us even touch the crate."

The story is interrupted when their waitress comes by for their orders—steak, rare, and a baked potato; steak, rare, and a baked potato; and steak, rare, and french fries—and Daniel re-finds his thread when she leaves. "So this Colonel Maybourne won't even pry off the top for a peek. I try to explain to him its uniqueness and importance to our entire understanding of world history, but he starts talking about national security, and shows us a piece of paper signed by this General Vidrine. So then I try to tell him I'm his best bet of learning anything about it—if he wants to hire me to a secret project, I'll sign the confidentiality agreements, but he just gets the crate reloaded onto a military transport truck, and there it went." The frustration is evident on Daniel's face.

Burke screws up his mouth in thought. "Hmm, not much else to work with. I touched base with some contacts in Campeche. They hadn't heard about the Egyptian thing, but there were stories that two archeologists were killed on a dig. Uh, Doctor Cole and Doctor Kleinhouse?" Daniel shakes his head—he doesn't show any familiarity with them.

Burke continues, "My sources thought it was weird, because there hasn't been any activity in the area with either guerillas or bandits, and nothing was reported stolen from the site. I also checked out Colonel Maybourne and General Vidrine." He looks at Jack. "If we worked on some Black Ops, these guys are doing Black Hole Ops. Other than name and rank, there's _nothing_ on Maybourne. No paper trail, no computer trail, no money trail. Vidrine's on paper as overseeing experimental aircraft development, but it smells like a cover. I'm guessing this thing probably is national security, and all the way at the top; I just can't figure out what the hell they're doing with an archeological artifact."

Daniel snorts a frustrated sigh. "Me either, other than screwing me out of my career—again."

 

* * *

 

Major Reynolds is walking through a radiology lab when he stops dead at an X-ray a researcher is examining on a light box. It looks like a normal head and shoulders X-ray, except there's an additional, eel-like skeleton wrapped around the neck.

"What the hell is that?" he asks.

"Oh, hi, Major. We just got shipped a body from DC. An airman on guard at a storage facility ..." The researcher refers to her folder. "Airman Jennifer Rodriguez shot and killed an intruder in the facility. Check out her report; it's pretty weird."

She hands over the folder to Major Reynolds, who flips it open to skim. The researcher summarizes, "This woman doesn't stop when ordered, so the airman takes a shot, but it ends up taking five bullets to finally put her down. And get this—" The researcher is peering closely at the X-ray. "The airman swears the woman's eyes glowed at her. Crazy, right? But then we find this." She taps the X-ray. "Hey, do you want to come see the autopsy?"

Major Reynolds shivers. "Uh, no thanks." He nods at the X-ray. "That's creepy enough."

He heads out of the biosciences wing and visits Captain Carter's lab.

"How are you doing with your new toy?" he asks, watching her study readouts from the sarcophagus.

Sam is glowing. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before!" she says. “Power source, energy readings, materials ... we're so far behind technologically, we can't even begin to speculate as to its purpose yet. Heck, I don't think we even have the physical theory to understand it! It's completely alien."

"Except for the Egyptian writing," the major points out.

"Right, that's the weird thing," says Sam. "I'm told the writing is exactly the kind of thing usually said about the Egyptian gods: worship the great Hathor, mother goddess, font of fertility, everlasting life ... A completely alien artifact with completely Earth-like decoration. The Doorway to Heaven at least had those weird symbols on it no one could translate."

She pets the sarcophagus. "My current theory is that alien visitors left this in Ancient Egypt, and the local people decorated it. Then the aliens returned for it, and somehow left it in the Mayan pyramid. Spaceship transport would clear up that weird anomaly."

Major Reynolds considers it. "Makes sense. Now you just have thousands more questions to answer."

"Just the way I like it, sir," she grins.

 

* * *

 

Jack is in the armchair doing the crossword as Daniel comes out, bundling on layers.

"I'm off with Betty, to do terrible, fiendish things," he says, stopping to lean in for a kiss goodbye.

"It's what she does best," Jack says, hanging on to Daniel. He drops his voice. "Don't forget, you're only allowed to take over the world with me." He pulls Daniel back in for a longer kiss.

"Mmm. Yes, Pinky," Daniel agrees, stopping for one last soft peck. Then he heads out the door and waits at the curb, where Betty picks him up in the Mustang.

"Are you sure you know what size he really is?" she checks. "With those baggy clothes I don't know how you can tell."

"My ways are wily and nefarious," Daniel intones. "I know."

"Excellent," she hisses, Mr. Burns style. "This will be Jack's worst Christmas ever—all clothes."

"But best year for us," Daniel responds.

Betty smiles. "That's about what Jack said last year when we replaced your checks and tweeds. Well, it was more along the lines of, 'At least it will stop my eyeballs bleeding.' "

 

* * *

 

**_1998_ **

 

Apophis, flanked by Amaunet and Klorel, stands proudly on his dais at the top of the plaza. He addresses Teal'c, Bra'tac, and his most trusted warriors, his voice echoing from his throat.

"Behold! My scientists have created a new weapon in our war against Ra. We will be able to breach his most trusted defenses with this!"

The Jaffa stand at attention, curious.

At the far end of the plaza, a prisoner is brought out and his leg chain attached to a post, although his arms are left free. The guards retreat again. From the other side, a child of perhaps ten years runs out, yelling, "Papa! Papa!"

"Mikel," the prisoner cries and the child rushes into his arms. "Oh, my Mikel."

Apophis's eyes flash, and his voice booms across the plaza. "Child, approach me."

"No, no!" the child protests from his father's embrace.

"You will come," Apophis insists, and raises his hand device.

The child's father, face fearful, calms and pets him, then quietly urges him to go. The boy walks the length of the plaza and mounts the dais steps.

"Did I do well, my lord?" he asks Apophis.

"Very well, child," Apophis answers. "You know what you are to do for me next."

"Yes, my lord," says the child, and he runs back down to where his father is chained.

As his father takes him in his arms again, the boy says, "Papa, you have displeased your god." And then the still air of the plaza is ripped apart by an explosion.

When the Jaffa have blinked, and recovered from the concussion of the blast, the end of the plaza contains two unrecognizable bodies and gruesome, bloodied fragments of flesh.

Apophis and his family beam, pleased at the demonstration. "You see, my Jaffa, we can take Ra's most trusted innocent and turn his mind against his lord. Anyone can become a weapon!" The Jaffa raise their staff weapons in salute, and he recesses in triumph.

The other warriors gather into small groups to discuss what they've seen, and slowly wander away. Teal'c and Bra'tac remain.

Teal'c's jaw is so rigid he can barely speak. "This tactic has no honor," he grits out, furious. "It is an abomination. It has no place in a warrior's arsenal."

Bra'tac nods sadly. "It is yet another proof that the Goa'uld are not gods."

 

* * *

 

Green shoots are starting to appear on the trees. Jack, Daniel, Frank, Betty, and another couple swarm over the swing set in the O'Neills' back yard with tools, undoing bolts and teaming up to catch supports. Three small children watch excitedly from the far side of a line drawn on the ground, running in circles and yelling their glee when it gets to be too much to bear.

There's the occasional clang as someone bangs on a rusted nut to loosen it.

As pieces come down, pairs team up to carry them to Jack's pickup bed, in the driveway.

When the last of the set disappears, Daniel turns to Frank and says quietly, "Thank you for this. The Hendersons will get a lot of use out of it—and the rest of the kids on our block, as well, I'm guessing."

"No use for it for us, anymore," is all Frank says, and Daniel nods quietly, dropping the subject. Jack and Frank are both more silent than usual, and look just a little haunted, while Betty handles the effusive thanks and goodbyes from the Hendersons.

 

* * *

 

A small group of people spill out of the church, and it's easy for General Hammond to intercept Sam.

"Captain Carter," he says. "George Hammond. Your father and I served together back in the Cold War."

She smiles through her sadness. "Thank you for coming, sir."

"Of course," he says. "Your father was a good man. I was so very sorry to hear of his passing."

"It was a bit of a shock," she says. "I'm afraid we were a bit estranged. He didn't even tell us he was sick—me or my brother." She looks around, where no brother is in sight.

General Hammond pats her arm consolingly. "Well, I know he was proud of your career. Every once in a while we ran into each other, and he always had news of you, from the Academy through every promotion."

She takes a wavery breath. "I didn't realize ... I'm afraid I got into another argument with Dad a little while ago. He was trying to pull strings to get me into NASA, but I'm already assigned to— well, let's just say it's perfect for me."

"It's good you're happy in your posting," General Hammond reassures her. "I know your dad loved you. I'm sure trying to get you into NASA was just his way of letting you know he cared."

"I know," Sam says with a watery smile. "Please, tell me what you're doing."

"Well," General Hammond says, "I'm at the Pentagon writing some advisory briefs for the White House, but that's just to wrap things up before I go; I've put in for my retirement." His pleasure is unmistakable.

"Oh, congratulations!" Sam says. "I'm sure you're ready for some rest and relaxation."

"Well," General Hammond chuckles, "I have two granddaughters who are a little too rambunctious to be called restful and relaxing, but I plan to enjoy my time with them anyway."

"Good for you," Sam says.

 

* * *

 

Daniel tumbles into Betty's kitchen. "Oh, _please_ tell me you're feeding me something that's not burnt meat."

Betty frowns. "I thought the barbecue at your house last week was delicious."

"Fourteen. Days. In a. Row," Daniel emphasizes. "I haven't had a stove-cooked dinner since Sunday here two weeks ago."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Why don't you just cook dinner?" She smacks his hand away from the potato salad bowl.

"Ah, but it's _summer_. Ergo, Jack, and only Jack, can cook dinner." Daniel rolls his eyes. "The rest of the year it's mostly me. Jack does breakfast or lunch. Oh, and he bakes, as long as he doesn't forget stuff in the oven and burn it. But he has this bizarre fixation on the summer grilling season as some manifestation of his machismo, or something."

"It's probably from playing poker with all those cops," Betty says. "It's all beer bottles and kielbasas, sidearms and nightsticks, right? A little manly competition? Measuring up?"

Daniel looks faintly alarmed. "Okay, I really don't need to be hearing innuendo from my boyfriend's mother." He beats a hasty retreat while Betty laughs behind him.

He practically runs into Jack, who's on his way in. "I really, really hope I just didn't learn something about your mother's adult movie viewing habits," Daniel says, before continuing to flee.

Jack stands stock still in the doorway. "What? _What?_ "

 

* * *

 

**_1999_ **

 

Jack and Daniel wander the Sky Pavilion, bundled against the cold and leaning into each other. "Come on," Jack says, "I want to see the telescope terrace."

"You know we can see all the stars inside the planetarium, and it's warm," Daniel jokes.

"Yeah, but it's not the _real_ stars," Jack says, linking arms with Daniel. They both stop for a moment to look up at the night sky. It's darker out on the water, so more stars are visible than in the city.

"When I was little," Jack remembers, "my dad used to point out Venus and Mars and Orion. We came for the planetarium show, and I hardly connected it to the night sky, it looked so different. Then the next time we visited my Grandma and Grandpa Olsen's cabin, my dad pointed out Orion again, and I could barely pick it out, there were so many other stars around. There was no moon up, but the starlight from the Milky Way was so bright, I could still see."

"It's an amazing thing, isn't it?" Daniel says. "It's one of the things I love about being out in the desert. It's the sharpest, clearest night sky."

"Flying through the desert night sky was the best," Jack muses. "It was like … freedom—the speed, and the G forces … being above it all. The sky was pitch black and the stars were bright, close. And then back down at base it was warm and bright and cheerful, and all your buddies were there—" He breaks off, looking a little abashed.

Daniel just presses a little closer. "Yeah. The stars look beautiful, but … cold."

After another appreciative gaze upwards, they huddle into their coats and move towards the terrace.

 

* * *

 

Daniel wanders into the kitchen and pours himself a coffee, then heads for the table. Jack pulls out the sports section of the paper, then slides the front section to Daniel.

"It's not pretty today," he comments.

Daniel picks up the paper and sees the headline: "Cult deaths in WA battle." He skims the opening sentences.

> Cult leader Seth Fargough and many of his followers are dead following an armed conflict with agents of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms at the Seth compound north of Seattle. The ATF was investigating claims of illegal weapons stockpiling.
> 
> As agents surrounded the property, members of the cult fired on them with automatic weapons. Agents returned fire.
> 
> Before agents could secure the perimeter, there was an explosion at the main building. Investigators say it appears a bomb was used to destroy the armory, to prevent the confiscation of the cult's arsenal. The stored ammunition intensified the effect of the blast, nearly destroying the building and killing most of the occupants.
> 
> Seth Fargough was found dead in the building. He had a wound on the back of his neck. A source at the scene says they haven't yet determined whether the wound was an attack by a cult member or damage from the blast.
> 
> The compound contained underground structures as well, and authorities do not yet have a final count of the dead, believed to number more than forty.
> 
> The ATF did not suffer any casualties.

  
Daniel shakes his head. "I'll never understand people who exchange logic for faith, when that faith actively does them harm."

Jack hums agreement and sips his coffee.

 

* * *

 

In a dimly lit hospital room, Jack is sitting beside Daniel's bed, looking worn. His eyes glitter with unexpressed emotion.

Daniel's eyes creep open. "J'ck."

"Hey," Jack says, gently.

"You look like I feel," Daniel says sleepily.

"You mean almost _dead_?" Jack snaps before he can stop himself.

"Whass'matter?" Daniel asks, confused, worried.

"The surgeon said your appendix nearly burst. You were this close—" He clams up and closes his eyes, unable to go on.

"But they did get it out and I'll be fine, right?" Daniel checks.

"Yeah, you'll be fine and I'll have more gray hairs," Jack says. He takes Daniel's hand and hangs on, his eyes betraying the worry and fear he hasn't let go of yet.

 

* * *

 

" _You're S. Carter?_ " a voice says incredulously from the doorway. "Dr. Rodney McKay, two PhD's," he adds as he comes rushing into the room to shake her hand. "Sorry, I'm not used to brilliant physicists being ..." He waves his hand up and down.

"Women?" asks Sam, wryly.

"Hot," corrects Rodney.

Sam just rolls her eyes. "Major Samantha Carter, Doctor McKay."

Rodney rushes on, "Rodney, please. So I've just been assigned here. The Air Force gave me a stack of papers to read through, and while I'm not saying they're completely incompetent—I mean, yours aren't bad—but obviously you could use my help." He leans past her to poke at the monitor, and she watches in amused disbelief. "This is a molecular view of the power crystal, isn't it? The question is how—"

"—does it resist depletion through entropy," Sam finishes for him. "I know."

"Right." He snaps his fingers. "I wanted to get a closer look at the crystal surface, to see if it's different in any way from the interior lattice."

"Oh, to see if it provides an extra resistive barrier—" Sam jumps in.

"Or reflective, yes," adds Rodney.

"Let me get the sample," she says, moving off, while Rodney zooms in on the crystal magnification onscreen.

 

* * *

 

**_2000_ **

 

Thor fires from his bridge on the three ships approaching Hala's orbital shipbuilding dock, but shields protect the invaders from taking any damage and one connects with the unfinished ship under construction.

He opens a communication channel. "Evacuate. The Replicator vessel has captured the flagship. Our most advanced technologies have been compromised. Evacuate the planet."

Several groups of small ships rise from the surface and shoot off through hyperspace windows the moment they clear the atmosphere, but they are dwarfed by the ships that approach the planet and ready themselves to land.

Thor and a few defenders continue to fire on the invaders, but their beams are deflected. When the Replicators fire back, the Asgard are not so fortunate. Soon the Asgard ships are cut to ribbons, and float lifeless around their planet. The corridors fill with chittering metal spiders, consuming the metal to make more of themselves.

 

* * *

 

Apophis summons Teal'c.

"Congratulate me," he says. "Even now I achieve a great victory!"

Teal'c frowns slightly. "I know of no battle currently being fought, my lord."

"It is my scientists who have won," Apophis corrects. "They have perfected the zatarc mind control technique. We captured the Tok'ra Lantash, and have programmed him to destroy the Tok'ra High Council. We will go now and bring back proof of our success."

Teal'c rocks back ever so slightly in surprise, but no other reaction shows. "A mighty feat, indeed, my lord."

"Come," Apophis says, as he leads the way to the ha'tak. "We must plan my next steps carefully. This victory will bring many of the System Lords to my side in the fight against Ra."

"But they will fight you for his territory as soon as he is gone," Teal'c finishes for him.

Apophis nods ever so slightly. "We must choose carefully whom to approach."

 

* * *

 

Jack and Daniel shoulder their way through their front door, loaded down with duffels and fishing gear, and drop their burdens in a heap on the floor. "I'll get the rest, and pick up the mail from next door, if you can start on this," Jack says.

Daniel nods acknowledgment and hauls bags to the bedroom. On his next trip he runs the fishing gear out to the garage, and by the time he's back the ice chest has shown up in the front entry and Jack is gone again.

Daniel pulls the cooler into the kitchen and starts transferring the contents to the refrigerator. He grabs the phone handset and dials voice mail, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he works, and stopping every so often to punch in the code to skip ahead or delete.

Then a message comes on that brings him up short. He rewinds and listens carefully, then hangs up and dials a number.

"Detective Huey? This is Daniel Jackson. You left me a message?" Whatever the detective says has him immediately shocked. "Wait, what? ... I didn't ... I didn't know. I've been in Minnesota for the past week—Easter break. Please, what's ...? Oh. Oh!"

He's frozen in place, a pickle jar still in his hand and the refrigerator door hanging open, forgotten. As the phone call goes on, Daniel's face only goes more slack with shock and dismay.

"Jerry says it was a catastrophe while we were gone," Jack's voice comes from the front door. "Kids were shrieking in the sprinkler at the Hendersons' every day. And Doug Appleton caught his bike tire in that pothole in front of Jerry's, flipped, and broke his arm. From the way Jerry was going on to me, I'm guessing the City's gotten an earful from him for the past week."

Jack strolls into the kitchen, sifting through the mail. "So pretty much business as—" He looks up and sees Daniel with the phone squished between shoulder and ear, waving distractedly to shush him—"Oh, sorry"—then sees his face.

He grabs the pickle jar out of Daniel's hand and sets it carefully on the counter, then gently closes the refrigerator door.

"Of course, I'll be happy to come tell you anything that might help. I just ... I don't know ... Yes, of course. Thank you." He thumbs off the phone, staring blankly.

"What is it?" Jack asks, worried.

Daniel finally looks up. His mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. Jack takes the phone, then leads Daniel over to a chair at the kitchen table and sits across the corner from him so he can watch Daniel's face while holding his hand.

"That was a Detective Huey," Daniel finally starts. "He was calling because Sarah ... Apparently Doctor Jordan died?" Jack gives his hand a squeeze in sympathy. "There was an explosion, a gas leak, at the Institute. The funeral was last Thursday, and right after the funeral both Steven and Sarah went missing, along with some artifact. They were traced to Cairo and the Egyptian authorities found their rental Jeeps at an old excavation site. Steven was ... Steven was found dead inside the temple foyer. They haven't found Sarah's body, but it looks like there was some kind of cave-in or sinkhole ... the deeper recesses of the temple have filled with sand. Her body might be buried there?"

"Jesus, Daniel!"

"I can't ... I just saw Doctor Jordan"—he thinks—"four weeks ago? When he gave me the notes on my latest monograph. And Sarah and I had lunch a couple of weeks ago. I can't believe ..."

"Hey. Hey." Jack pulls Daniel up and into an embrace, one hand cradling his head as Daniel buries his face in Jack's shoulder. He folds himself more tightly around Daniel and buries his nose in Daniel's hair.

 

* * *

 

**_2001_ **

 

On Hanka, Cassandra walks into the forest, as if sleepwalking. She triggers the hand mechanism and soon finds herself in Nirrti's lab.

The Goa'uld inspects her closely, then straps her to a chair and attaches monitors to her head. Cassie is tested with a variety of objects that she is ordered to move with her mind. Nirrti runs scans of her EM field, brain waves, blood, DNA.

"You really are a significant step closer to my Hok'tar," she tells Cassie, pleased, before she kills her with a needle to the heart.

She then begins removing the top of Cassie's skull.

 

* * *

 

Osiris surveys the temple from above in his little transport, noting the al'kesh to the side, then signals the landing bay in the temple to open.

Once inside, he strides through the halls, hand device glowing softly in readiness.

In the great hall, there is a figure on the throne, flanked by Jaffa.

"Ba'al!" Osiris snarls. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you!"

Ba'al takes in Sarah's body with a slow look that both admires and dismisses her. "What have I dared?" he drawls, bored, but his Jaffa are at the ready.

"You are no System Lord, and this is _my_ temple."

"Osiris!" Ba'al becomes more interested. "Lovely host you're wearing," he smirks. "But," he adds, "I'm afraid your information is several thousand years out of date and your holdings long dispersed. You do need to catch up. However ... I think I can be of assistance." He runs a finger thoughtfully down his goatee. "That is, if you're interested in taking down Ra."

Osiris's eyes flash angrily. "Ra still rules?"

Ba'al nods with studied indifference. "Yes, but there is another who can defeat him." He leans forward. "One of our brothers has mastered the secrets of Kheb. He is building an alliance, and we shall rid ourselves of Ra once and for all."

"And what of my brother Setesh?" Osiris asks.

Ba'al shrugs. "Setesh has not been heard from since Ra withdrew from the First World." He narrows his eyes and examines Osiris. "Much like you."

Osiris returns the calculated look. "I have recent news of the Tau'ri," he says, and Ba'al raises his eyebrows.

"Perhaps you do have something to offer." He taps his chin a few times, then says, "The Tok'ra brought down the goddess Qetesh a year ago. I will show you her holdings. Establish a base for yourself, and I will bring you to meet my master. When Ra falls, there will be worlds for the taking."

Osiris bristles at Ba'al's orders, but keeps silent and nods agreement.

 

* * *

 

Sam sits back, pushes the hair back from her face and sighs. She gestures at the sarcophagus with the energy meter in her hand. "I just wish I had an alien to ask _what the hell this is_."

"Hmm, right. The next thing I know, you'll be standing out in the desert in the middle of the night with a towel and your thumb out," Rodney mutters distractedly, scrolling through screens of results on the computer.

"Only if I got a babelfish, too," Sam says resignedly. "It wouldn't do me much good to meet the aliens and not understand what they're saying. With my luck, all they'd say is 'doo doo doo doot dooo.' " She imitates the Close Encounters tune.

Rodney hmms. "That would be a stroke of luck, really. Music is essentially mathematics. I'd figure out how to communicate with them in no time. Forget this box"—he waves at the sarcophagus—"I'd get them to give me a spaceshi— Oh, no, no!" Rodney now has his email open.

"What?" Sam asks.

"General Vidrine, in his moronic military mindset, has somehow decided once again that the other brainless, trigger-happy flyboys of the Air Force can put my proposal on the back burner, never mind I have an IQ higher than all of them put together. While they were off bombing goats—"

"Hey," Sam interrupts sharply. "I flew in the first Gulf War."

"And what a ridiculous misappropriation of resources that was," Rodney retorts immediately. "It's a miracle you didn't end up splattered across the desert, which would have been a criminal waste of brainpower."

"But," responds Sam, "if we do run across a spaceship, I could fly it."

Rodney wavers. "I'm sure I could figure it out," he finally says with a sniff.

 

* * *

 

Jack and Daniel are jogging with matched strides down the tree-lined sidewalk. As they arrive at their house, they slow to a stop on the patch of front lawn, breathing heavily and sweating, and segue into a few stretches as their muscles cool down.

Jack leans over and grasps above his knee with both hands, massaging with his thumbs.

"Okay, that's it," Daniel says, panting. "Either we switch to biking and swimming, or you see an orthopedist. Who will probably order you to switch to biking and swimming," he adds.

"Or operate," Jack says, with a grimace.

"Or operate," Daniel agrees.

"Not the end of the world if I can't run …" Jack floats out there.

"No," Daniel drawls, and Jack straightens up at his approach. Daniel steps in close, pressing front to front. "But," he says in a low voice just past Jack's ear, "I do have a … vested interest in the health of your knees."

"Maybe … I should just call the VA," Jack muses.

"Hmm, maybe you should." Daniel sounds noncommittal, and he backs away and turns to go in the house.

When Jack follows, he's limping a bit, and he grimaces before his expression turns resigned.

 

* * *

 

"Sevarin!"

"Yes, High Minister," the Terani ambassador responds.

"The tremors that tumbled walls in the Old City—we're getting reports that a massive explosion has destroyed Kelowna."

Sevarin's eyes widen. "I cannot believe the Andari Federation has a weapon capable of that magni—" He pauses and thinks. "Ambassador Noor told me recently their intelligence heard stories the Kelownans were working on a powerful bomb. Either they suffered an accident, or the treacherous bitch was deflecting suspicion from the Andari program."

"Which do you feel is more likely?" asks the High Minister.

Severin's lips purse. "Either or both. Whether or not the Andari bombed Kelowna, they are certainly working on weapons development."

"Precisely," the High Minister agrees. "I want you to contact Ambassador Noor again and tell her that now that the Kelownans have met with their accident, we want to open relations with the Andari Federation. Stall her as long as you can while we finish work on our final solution."

"Yes, Minister." Sevarin bows.

 

* * *

 

"Teal'c," Apophis orders, "Ready my al'kesh. We go to meet with Lord Anubis."

"My lord," Teal'c says doubtfully, "I have heard—"

"Silence!" Apophis says, eyes flashing. "Do you question your god?"

Teal'c bows his head, and turns to go to the ship.

Fro'tak meets up with him. "You are concerned."

Teal'c nods. "Lord Yu has warned Apophis against siding with Anubis and I believe his advice to contain much wisdom. I am also concerned that Anubis is said to have mastered the secrets of Kheb. If that is so, what does that mean for the Jaffa? I fear we may never be free, in this life or the next, should Anubis rule the galaxy."

Fro'tak nods. "I understand your caution. But what can we do?"

"Wait and watch for an opportunity, as always," Teal'c says, frustrated.

 

* * *

 

**_2002_ **

 

Teal'c does not learn until too late that he has been betrayed. He is only able to stare back at Apophis, defiant, and declare, "You are not a god."

"Sholva!" Apophis's eyes flash in anger and signals to his guards. They open a door for someone.

Horrified, Teal'c watches Rya'c stumbling towards him, unable to resist the zatarc programming. "My son, you are not to blame," is all he can tell him, as he draws up to face Apophis with anger and dignity. He does not look down as Rya'c is forced to do as Cronus did to Teal'c's own father. Rya'c weeps helplessly as Jaffa and symbiote blood mix on his hand and his father falls.

 

* * *

 

Daniel picks up the front page of the paper. "Oh, thank God."

Jack flips down the corner of the Sports section to give Daniel a questioning look.

"Hayes chose Peyton for his ticket, not Kinsey."

Jack gives a little shiver. "That's one son of a bitch I wouldn't want to be a heartbeat away from the presidency. Fanaticism and Commander in Chief are a bad combination."

Daniel gives Jack a searching look, but then hums in agreement. "Well, Hayes decided the moderate middle was better than trying to court the religious right."

Jack snorts. "Or Peyton has more favors, secrets, or campaign funding piled up."

"Ooo, so cynical," Daniel tsks, but he doesn't disagree.

 

* * *

 

"— still looks at this creaky, beat-up old frame like she likes what she sees. Fifty years ago, I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. Today, I know I was." Frank sits down next to Betty, who is sparkling with happiness, as the people in the hall applaud.

"I don't think I've ever heard him say so much at once," Daniel leans over to whisper to Jack as they clap. "Didn't know he had it in him. He is so getting some tonight."

"Gah!" Jack squawks. He stops applauding to cover his ears and hisses, "Little pitchers, Daniel!"

Daniel rolls his eyes and snorts, and Jack drops his hands from his ears to take a gulp of champagne with a grimace.

Someone has started the music again, and Frank leads Betty onto the dance floor.

"Who would have thought," Jack muses, "that the cantankerous old crank would manage to keep hold of a beauty like that for fifty years. Of course, she's twice as stubborn and downright evil, so I suppose it works." His look is fond as he watches them slowly spin together.

"Hmm, yes, who would have thought?" Daniel's voice has an ironic edge, but his eyes are amused.

Jack feels for Daniel's hand and clasps it in his, under the table, while he watches his parents dance, his eyes growing increasingly thoughtful. When the next song starts up, a livelier swing, he squeezes Daniel's hand and turns to him. "Want to foxtrot?"

"We won't get struck by lightning for dancing in St. Bart's?" Daniel checks jokingly.

Jack waves off the concern. "We're in the rec hall, not the church."

"Then by all means, " _habibi_ ," 4 Daniel answers, and they walk out to the floor hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

**_2003_ **

 

"—your proposal has finally been scheduled at Brookhaven." Major Reynolds is delivering the news to Rodney and Sam as the two sit at a table in the Area 51 commissary. "Which one was that again?" he continues innocently, then winks at Sam behind Rodney's back.

"Only the most important project in the program!" Rodney huffs. "Trying to recreate the heavy metal used in half the artifacts here, the one not found on Earth, by using the particle accelera— Oh, never mind. You were obviously hired for your looks, not your brains."

Sam and Reynolds do a terrible job of hiding their laughter, and Reynolds leaves them with a wave.

"Rodney!" Sam chides. "You can't go flirting with the military men! They're not allowed."

"What?" Rodney shrieks. "I wasn't— Oh, God, he didn't think I was—"

"Rodney," Sam interrupts him innocently, "if you're really looking for a date, the new researcher in biology was asking me about you the other day."

"Who? What?" Rodney asks.

Sam points subtly with her fork, and Rodney twists around in his seat.

"Don't _look_ ," Sam hisses.

"She's kind of cute," Rodney muses. "Is she smart? I mean, she's a biologist, but still, she can't be completely useless if she's here. What did you tell her about me? Oh, God, what if she comes and talks to me? What do I say?"

Sam rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry I said anything. What wouldn't I give for a DeLorean right now."

"Gah! Blasphemy!" Rodney says. "You're losing hotness points right before my very eyes.” He wiggles his fingers in front of him in illustration. “Next thing you'll tell me is that the multiverse theory works like Trek's Mirror-verse."

"Well, Mirror Spock _is_ hot," Sam teases.

"I take back my offer to make genius babies with you," Rodney says, and scoops a bite of Sam's pumpkin pie with his fork. "You're obviously damaged."

"Hey," she protests, pulling her pie out of reach. "Get your own."

"If you didn't want to share, you would have gotten lemon meringue," he replies with a sniff.

 

* * *

 

Jack sticks his head into Daniel's home office. "Come on. Puck drops in thirty minutes."

Daniel glances at the clock on his computer monitor. "Crap. Let me just ..." Daniel scribbles another line then puts his pen down and rushes from his seat. He takes the jacket Jack's holding out for him and shrugs it on as they hurry up the hallway. "Brandy?"

"Taken care of," says Jack.

"Tickets?"

"Ben has them." Jack starts towards the truck while Daniel locks the door behind them.

"Are we—"

"Ray's driving them. We're meeting them out front." Jack calls from the driver's side door as he gets in. Daniel climbs in and belts up, and Jack backs into the street.

As they drive off, Daniel's stomach grumbles. Jack reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a snack bar, holding it out to Daniel with his eyebrows raised in question. Daniel nods and takes it.

 

* * *

 

**_2004_ **

 

Osiris and Ba'al stride briskly through the corridors of a mothership. As soon as they enter a private chamber, Osiris whips around and hisses in a whisper to Ba'al. "He's mad!"

Ba'al is tense, but his reply to Osiris is calm. "Of course he is. That's why we haven't told him everything—it leaves us options in reserve. But this galaxy can no longer remain under Ra. We will just have to ensure Anubis never takes hold either."

"One mind probe, and we will have no more secrets," Osiris reminds him.

"That is a risk we will just have to take," Ba'al replies, darkly.

 

* * *

 

John Sheppard is wearing an eye-searingly bright Hawaiian shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and aviator glasses as he enters Nene Helicopter Tours.

"Harry Chan?" he asks of the older man behind the counter. The man nods, and reaches over for a handshake.

John then pulls out a sheet of paper for him and introduces himself, "John Sheppard. I wanted to know if you're interested in another pilot." He pulls off his shades and Harry gives him a stare for a while before looking down at the paper.

"Apache, Blackhawk, Cobra, Osprey. You ever flown an MD 500?"

"I can fly anything with rotors or wings."

"Yeah, but with Elsie and George from Iowa on board, not your buddies in a hot zone," Harry warns.

"I can carry them like babies in a cradle," John promises.

Harry huffs a breath through his nose and gives John another measuring look. "You made major and you don't have twenty years in. Why're you out?"

"I've been posted in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Antarctica. I'm looking for eighty degree weather and an ocean I can surf in all year round." Harry just stares harder at that until John squirms slightly and adds, "The Air Force and I had a disagreement about whether you can go to rescue your buddies or not. Antarctica was okay, but I didn't want to spend another full tour there."

Harry nods, satisfied, then asks, "Why're you in my shop?"

John shrugs. "I figure a guy with a one-man shop is going to want a day off now and again, someone who can fill in. I don't need a full-time gig, just want to get up in the air sometimes."

"All right, zoomie," Harry says, and claps him on the shoulder. "Come on. I was just going to check her out before the three o'clocks get here. It's only a couple, so ride along, see how it goes."

John pulls on his aviators again to follow Harry out back back. As he approaches the helicopter pad, his step gains a little bounce.

 

* * *

 

**_2005_ **

 

Jack is spooned around Daniel in their bed, Daniel idly rubbing Jack's hand as they laze together.

"I'm thinking we should schedule a trip next summer," Jack says.

"You're talking about more than the cabin?" Daniel guesses.

"Yeah." The bedcovers shift as Jack strokes his foot along Daniel's. "Next year it'll be ten years ago that we met."

"Really?" Daniel thinks. "You're right. Huh. Did you have any ideas?"

"I was thinking maybe the West Coast. We could stop in Oregon and see your grandfather." Daniel gives a doubtful hum, but Jack continues. "I'd like to see Vancouver. You can show me your old stomping grounds, where your foster parents taught, all of that. Maybe do a little hiking and fishing in British Columbia." He pauses, then adds, "Canada made same-sex marriage legal."

Daniel twists in Jack's arms to face him. "You ... you romantic son of a bitch," he says wonderingly. "You want to meet my family and get married!"

Before Jack can respond, Daniel pushes him over and kisses the hell out of him. "Yes," he breathes, eyes sparkling.

"We can honeymoon in San Francisco," Jack adds.

Daniel gives him another long, slow kiss, and proclaims, "Genius."

Jack looks up at him and asks, "Can I get that in writing, for later?"

Daniel collapses into laughter.

 

* * *

  


* * *

 

The screen goes black and Daniel blinks, carefully not looking at the two figures to his side and attempting not to blush. He hears Hermiod confirm, "We have reached the 'present' in this reality and cannot see any further into their timeline."

The Daedelus is parked near a rift in space. The Viewer (no one's managed to agree on a name for it) is sifting through thousands of alternate realities. They're searching for universes in which the Ori haven't devastated Earth with a new bioweapon. In which Sam didn't die of the plague soon after making the theoretical breakthrough that made the Viewer possible. In which Mitchell isn't staying with Teal'c on Dakara in a Jaffa last stand that is destined to be summed up in the three words, "We die free." In which the Wraith aren't a persistent threat to Atlantis. In which the Replicators aren't devastating the Asgard.

The mission of the Viewer project is to determine whether any means has been discovered in any reality to make the Milky Way, the Pegasus, or the Othalla galaxies safe, or whether the Atlantis expedition and a colony of Asgard should flee to an altogether new galaxy and start over. They have until the Ori find them, however long or short a time that may be, before the Daedalus has to cut and run to Atlantis—with or without alternate reality knowledge of big honking space guns.

Jack bounces nervously on his toes, and says to Hermiod, "Sorry about the ... peep show." Daniel's blush does come up, then, and he's never been gladder Jack's name for the Viewer, The Peeper, had been vetoed immediately.

"A 'peep' is a _quick_ look." Hermiod says snippily. "Other than setting the timeframe and subjects, we have no control over what material comes through the rift—it is _never_ a quick look." He mutters to himself in Asgard as he resets the controls.

Daniel looks up to the side to see Jack open his mouth to explain and then shut it again. "Never mind."

Hermiod continues, apparently unaware of Jack and Daniel's embarrassment. "This reality contained no information that will aid our mission—"

"Except maybe it would have been better if I'd never opened the Stargate," Daniel can't help but say, a bit bitter. "Earth seemed pretty peaceful and Goa'uld-free."

"Don't start, Daniel," Jack warns. "You can't play 'what if.' Teal'c? The Jaffa? Cassie? Jacob?"

Hermiod adds, "Hala?" He grudgingly admits, "There are no realities in which the Asgard have survived without humans' stupid ideas."

"I know," Daniel says, "But what does it say that one of the few realities with a surviving Earth is one in which I never joined the Stargate program."

"It says that one day the Goa'uld, or the Replicators, or hell, even the Ori or the Wraith, are going to get to Earth, and Earth will be totally and completely unprepared," Jack says. "And that in the meantime, millions of people who lived and learned to be free in our reality, didn't there." He turns to Hermiod. "We should skip realities without a Stargate Command. We can't spend more hours on longshots."

Hermiod runs slender hands delicately over the Viewer controls, already half ignoring Daniel and Jack. "I agree. I will continue to search for realities from which we may learn something. Take your rest break. I will summon you if I find any realities worth investigating."

Jack sniffs a little, and Daniel smiles. He misses Thor, too. Hermiod is more ... cranky.

The hallways are quiet—it's the "night shift" on ship time. Jack bumps Daniel's shoulder with his as they walk. "It wasn't that idyllic," he says, with that uncanny ability to read what's on Daniel's mind.

"Seems to me like those versions of us never ended up on the wrong end of a zat, pain stick, or staff weapon," Daniel replies. "And no Goa'uld fleet ever orbited Earth."

Jack comes back immediately with, "High school Latin teacher? Can you imagine never knowing you were right? Not learning to speak Ancient Egyptian as a living language, exploring all those cultures?"

Daniel shakes his head slowly no, but says, "How selfish is that, my career versus the fate of the world?"

"Just because there was no Goa'uld fleet yet, it was only a matter of time."

Daniel has to concede it didn't look good.

In the hallway outside their respective doors, Jack pauses. "What is it? There's something still bugging you."

Daniel's not sure he wants to admit to his thoughts. Jack tends to get the truth out of him sooner or later, though. "They looked, well, happy."

Jack pauses before answering. "I don't doubt it. Their lives were a lot less ... complicated."

Daniel studies Jack. "Is that the difference? Our lives are complicated?"

"In some ways, less so now."

Daniel can't believe Jack just said that, and waits for him to elaborate.

"In the sense that the Pentagon, the White House and every other stricture we've operated under are gone."

Daniel has to process that a minute before he makes a silent "Oh" of realization. _That_ kind of "less complicated."

Jack clarifies, "Wherever we end up, assuming we survive to end up somewhere, Elizabeth is going to be the governor, you'll probably be her 2IC, and I'll be the ranking military officer. We'll have an international population and a whole new world to build. I figure we'll be building it any way we want to."

Daniel nods, mind going a mile a minute over that image.

"This isn't really the way I imagined it going down before. More like a quiet retirement and a trip to Minnesota, maybe, but I did always think we'd ... be happy."

Daniel's flabbergasted at the admission. "I, uh ... I ..."

Apparently that's not the reaction Jack was expecting. "You ... never thought about ...?" He gestures nervously back and forth between them.

"Um, no. It didn't occur to me that you ... I just never imagined the possibility ..." _It's not like I haven't noticed you're hot_ , his memory helpfully supplies. Yes, hot, and aggravating, and loyal, and provoking—the constant he never imagined being without, but never _with_ , not beyond the stray, quickly dismissed fancy.

"Does it freak you out?"

"Actually, no." Daniel tries to put his reaction into words. "I just feel like an idiot for assuming."

Jack waves off the apology. "Regs. Everyone was supposed to assume."

Although on the flip side ... "Well, speaking of ... you just assumed I was—"

"I've read your background check."

"Oh." Daniel considers working up a head of anger over Jack holding this one-sided knowledge the whole time, but can't bring himself to do it. The truth is, he probably would have been frustrated and unhappy at waiting if he had known there was a possibility they could be closer.

"So you're okay with this?" Jack has taken one of Daniel's hands and shakes it lightly.

Daniel smiles at the memory of the Viewer. "I've just had a Technicolor demo of how okay I am with this. I am surprisingly okay with this."

Jack pauses. "I'm not him, you know. The last eleven years ..."

"I know. Same here. But I think what we've been through together just makes our connection stronger."

Jack nods agreement. They both watch their hands clasped and swinging between them a moment.

"So ..." "So ..." they start in unison.

They break off and grin. Jack picks it up again. "Things are a little messed up right now, what with all of our friends gone, being on the run and the fate of the galaxies hanging. Is it ... Do you wanna maybe take a first step toward ... being happy?"

Daniel takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I would."

He follows willingly as Jack pulls him slowly into his quarters, and lets Jack press him against the door for a kiss—a soft press of lips, easy to fall into, that feels like home.

"I'm too tired to get up to much," Jack murmurs apologetically.

Between fatigue and the discovery that being intimate with Jack is _comfortable_ , Daniel can only raise enough energy to hum in agreement.

They make their way to the bunk—at least not tiny, thanks to Jack's rank—and pull off their boots and belts before crawling under the covers. Jack's on his side, arms open, and Daniel presses in so they can twine around each other as if they've done it a hundred times before. _Not in this reality_ , Daniel reminds himself, but it feels familiar nonetheless.

He can't help but feel a small pang that they've only discovered this as their future hangs in the balance.

\- - - - - - - - -

Hermiod watches the Viewer screen where Merlin, head in an Ancient device, is assembling the Sangreal from the molecular level.

He presses the communicator button. "General O'Neill, Doctor Jackson. There is something you should see."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

1 "—because this damn faggot is keeping us after class. He probably wants to suck me."  
"Don't try to fool me, asshole. You _want_ the queer to suck you."  
"Fuck your—! You're nuts. You're the one that wants—"  
back

 

2 "Are the two of you stupid? You know perfectly well that this kind of language and lack of respect is against the code of conduct."  
back

 

3 "One marinated pork taco, two with brains, and one with tongue, please."  
"Two chicken and two grilled steak."  
"Oh, yes. A large watermelon-ade."  
"For me, too."  
back

 

4 beloved  
back

**Author's Note:**

>  **Contains:** homophobia; violence; medical trauma; character deaths (not Jack or Daniel); apocafic


End file.
